Page 39 of The Fire Beneath the Frost

Thoughts about art.About life.About who I really was, now that I’d tasted something other than fear.I felt like one of those statues you see in books—marble men with their arms cracked off—only now I had my arms back.My hands too, and my heart.

We descended the stairs slowly.Each creak of the old wood was a reminder that this world wasn’t built for people like us.We moved in silence, like shadows slipping out of a dream.

When we stepped outside, the cold took my breath away.But Petyr exhaled instead, long and slow, like he’d been holding it in all night.

Then he turned to me, eyes still soft with sleep.

“Thank you,” he whispered.“For the best night of my life.”

I couldn’t speak.I couldn’t even smile.

He paused, then added, “But remember, we can’t speak of it to anyone.As far as the world is concerned—including Vera—you didn’t spend the night.”

His words stung more than I expected.They weren’t cruel, but they were… final.Like waking from a dream you didn’t want to end.

I nodded—more of a shrug, really.A non-verbal agreement.My mouth couldn’t form words yet.I wasn’t ready to let it all evaporate just because morning had come.

But something twisted inside me, low and mean.A flicker of resentment I hadn’t anticipated.

Vera got to sleep beside him every night.Vera, who (I was sure) didn’t feel what I felt.But she got the days and nights with him, and I didn’t.The routines.The ordinary things.

I only got the miracles.

We walked side by side toward the tram stop, not touching, not speaking.

But inside, I was wide awake.Alive.In love, or something dangerously close to it.

And terrified of what came next.

* * *

The shift was nearly over, thank God.

My hands ached from threading yarn, and my back felt like it belonged to a man twice my age.The factory air was thick with wool dust and machine oil—same as always—but today it sat heavier on my chest, like guilt I hadn’t earned.Or maybe I had.

Across the floor, Petyr was bent over a loom, showing some greenhorn how to keep the threads aligned.I watched him when I could.When the noise of the machines drowned out the static in my brain.His sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms—strong, capable, familiar.I wanted to be over there with him, laughing under our breath like we usually did.But today, we were playing our parts.Petyr, the cheerful senior worker.Me, the quiet nobody at loom six.

The clatter of steel and wool was nearly overwhelming.I’d never realized how loud this place was until I had something—someone—to miss.

A few hours before the end of our shift, the door creaked open behind me and I felt, more than saw, someone walk onto the floor.I turned my head just enough to catch her out of the corner of my eye.

Vera.

She cut across the factory like she owned it, dodging carts and oil stains in those heeled boots of hers, coat cinched tight around her waist like she was off to the opera.And she didn’t even glance at me.

No, she went straight to Petyr.

Right in front of everyone, she stood on her toes and kissed him on the mouth.Not a quick peck either—long enough to make my stomach clench.Something ugly twisted inside me.A feeling I didn’t want to name.

But then, just for a heartbeat, I saw it.

Petyr flinched.

Not much.Just a subtle tension in his shoulders.A twitch in his mouth.A blink that lasted one beat too long.

Nobody else would’ve seen it.They weren’t looking the way I was.But I noticed.

He didn’t want that kiss.Not from her.

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