Page 22 of The Fire Beneath the Frost

She pulled back, hands on my shoulders now, searching my face with that sharp, curious expression of hers.“So why are you chasing me down like a schoolboy?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly.“I guess I just… needed someone to know.”

She smiled.It was soft this time.Sad, almost.

“Well, someone does.”She let go and walked to her desk, fiddling with a stack of forms that didn’t really need fiddling.“Just be careful, Petyr.”

“I am.”

“You’re not.”She turned back to me.“You were giggling like a love-struck fool in front of half the line this morning.”

“I made him laugh.”

“You did,” she agreed.“And it was beautiful.But people notice that kind of beauty.And around here, noticing is dangerous.”

I nodded, swallowing hard.“I know.”

“Good.”She gave me one of her pointed brief nods and picked up her clipboard.“Then get back to work, Comrade.”

I was halfway to the door when I turned and said, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For the tickets.”

She tilted her head, feigning innocence.“Oh, were those good tickets?”

I narrowed my eyes.“You knew what you were doing.”

“Maybe.”She smiled.“Or maybe I just didn’t want to sit through another Soviet allegory in a dust-colored auditorium with sticky seats.”

I opened the door, stepped out into the hum of machines and wool and silent men.

But inside, my blood was singing.

ChapterSeven

Dimitri

It was almost the end of our shift, but time had slowed into something syrupy and strange.Normally by now my back would be aching, my hands cramping, and my thoughts drifting toward dinner and sleep.But today—God help me—I didn’t want it to end.

Petyr had been at my side all afternoon, weaving his presence into every moment like a thread I hadn’t noticed I needed.He was...relentless.Charming.Ridiculous.He told joke after joke, some better than others, most bad on purpose.And yet I laughed.Every damn time.

Something about him made it impossible not to.

He kept brushing against me, like it was an accident, though it happened too often to truly be one.A hand on my elbow when I reached for the spool, a shoulder pressed to mine when we adjusted the tension of the loom, his breath ghosting across my cheek when he leaned in too close to whisper a punchline.Every touch sparked something under my skin.

It was...disorienting.

But not unwelcome.

I wanted to believe he was just friendly.Just one of those exuberant types who made the world spin a little brighter around them.But then he’d look at me—really look—and I’d forget how to breathe.

He made me feel something dangerously close to happy.

The afternoon passed like that.Petyr flitting around me like some mischievous magpie, all flashing eyes and wicked smiles.I pretended not to enjoy it as much as I did.I told myself he was just being kind.Funny.Friendly.But my hands shook a little when I reached for the next bolt of wool.

Then Vera showed up.

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