Page 45 of The Fire Beneath the Frost

I adjusted the tension dial on my loom and pretended I gave a damn about it.The thing had been running smoothly all morning, better than usual, but I needed an excuse.

I yanked a thread from the shuttle and jammed it deliberately.The machinery hiccupped, stuttered, then gave a mournful clunk before falling silent.

“Damn it,” I muttered, loud enough for the few nearby to hear, but not loud enough to sound suspicious.I leaned toward Dimitri.“My loom’s acting up again.Always when I’m on shift, never when Rolan’s on it.You’d think it’s in love with him.”

Dimitri glanced over.His brow furrowed, lips parting like he might say something useful.Then his expression fell back into neutrality—the kind that said I’d like to care, but I’m tired.Still, he leaned in to look.

He crouched beside the machine and stared at the tangled mess I’d made.His hand reached for a lever, hesitated, then pulled back.“I’m not a mechanic,” he said.

I leaned in close, perhaps a little too close.My voice dropped to a whisper.“Then pretend.Follow me.”

He blinked.For a second, just one, something flickered in his eyes.Surprise.Hesitation.And then, light.That spark I remembered from our one night together.The one that used to look at me like I was something worth ruining a life for.

Without another word, I crossed the factory floor.The surrounding looms kept their grinding chorus, drowning out the sound of my heart slamming against my ribs.I approached our supervisor, a round man with a wheeze like a broken accordion and a laugh that always came two seconds too late.

“Comrade Baranov,” I said, keeping my tone even, “we’ve got a jam on Loom 14.Looks like the feed shuttle’s bent again.”

Baranov peered at me like I’d interrupted a nap he wasn’t supposed to be taking.“You know where the spares are.”

“I do, but…” I tilted my head toward Dimitri, who stood a respectful step behind me, his hands folded like a good factory boy.“Dimitri’s a mechanical wizard.He knows these looms better than I do.We’ll be back before anyone notices we’re gone.”

Baranov narrowed his eyes, like he was weighing the lie against his desire not to get involved.Finally, he waved us off with a grunt.“Don’t dawdle.And if the Ministry calls for a production report, you were both on the floor, understood?”

“Of course,” I said, already moving.

The stairwell to the basement groaned under our boots, each step down colder and darker than the last.You could feel the air shift as we descended, damp and thick, full of brick dust and the ghosts of moth-eaten wool.The overhead light flickered as we reached the concrete landing, and then the door creaked open to reveal the storeroom.

Stacks of unused spools lined the walls.Old looms, half-disassembled, hunched like broken horses in the shadows.

Dimitri leaned against a brick column and let out a soft laugh.“Me, a mechanical wizard?”

I rolled my eyes, but the corner of my mouth tugged up without permission.“You’re a man of many talents, Dimitri.Deception might be your finest.”

He looked at me for a long beat.Not at the floor.Not at the wall.At me.And it nearly undid me.

But before I could say anything foolish, I turned, led him between two dusty shelves, and stopped at a narrow alcove where the light barely reached.I stood close, close enough that I could hear the soft inhale of his breath.My fingers twitched at my side.

“I thought you were avoiding me,” I breathed.

His shoulders tensed.“I wasn’t… ”

“Don’t lie.”

He looked away.The silence pressed in around us, thick as the wool upstairs, heavier than any winter snow.

“It’s just been… complicated,” he said finally.

I let out a bitter laugh.“Everything is complicated.Life is complicated.Wanting you is complicated.But I’m here, anyway.”

His jaw clenched, and I could see the war behind his eyes—between fear and desire, between duty and whatever we had forged, between blankets and longing.

I stepped closer.“Dimitri.That night… was it just the one night for you?”

His eyes snapped to mine, and for a moment, all the noise in my head stopped.There it was again—that look.And the sound of swirling strings began to play in my imagination.

“No,” he said, hoarse.“It wasn’t.”

“Then why the walls?”My voice cracked.“Why do you keep shutting me out?”

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