Page 92 of The Fire Beneath the Frost

Even if they dragged me away tomorrow, I’d carry his name in my mouth like a prayer.

The door opened again, but this time, it didn’t slam.It eased open, slowly and carefully.That was worse, somehow.Made my heart thud so hard I thought it might burst.

A woman stepped inside.Police uniform.Stern face.Her nose wrinkled when she looked at me, no doubt catching the stench of fear and piss.

She didn’t look at me long.She just moved forward, unlocked the cuffs.Metal clanked to the table.

“You’re free to go,” she muttered.

That was it.No explanation.No paperwork.Not even a warning.

She turned to leave, and I just sat there, blinking, until she turned back.

“I said go.”

My legs didn’t work at first.I had to grip the edge of the table with both hands to haul myself upright.My knees trembled so badly I almost fell, but I straightened slowly, inch by inch.My back screamed in protest, and my fingers were white on the table’s edge.

I followed her into the hallway like a man just returned from the dead.

The corridor was long, low, gray concrete.Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead in intervals, leaving pockets of dimness in between.It smelled like bleach, paper, and coffee.I moved like I was underwater, like I’d left part of myself back in that room, and wasn’t sure I wanted it returned.

Then, at the end of the corridor, I saw him.

Dimitri.

He was being led out of a different hallway by a younger officer.Dimitri’s shoulders were hunched, and his shirt was wrinkled, but he was on his feet.Alive and walking, despite the obvious bruises and cuts covering his face and neck.

My heart stuttered in my chest , and I nearly crumpled with relief.

We didn’t speak, nor were we allowed to.But when his eyes flicked toward mine, I saw it.Fear, yes.But also that flicker of light that only I got to see.The one he tried to hide from everyone else.

They led us both into the lobby.

And that’s when my heart nearly stopped.

Ivan.

Dimitri’s father stood there, coat unbuttoned, eyes bloodshot, his mouth drawn in a flat, furious line.He didn’t look drunk.He didn’t look calm, either.His gaze went from Dimitri to me and then settled on my face like a hammer looking for something soft to crush.

He walked forward with military precision.No hesitation.

I didn’t breathe.

He stopped inches from my face.I smelled the cigarettes on his breath, the old wool of his coat.His eyes were sharp and endless.

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” he said, voice low and cold.

I swallowed hard.My tongue was dry as paper.I couldn’t speak and didn’t dare.

He turned to Dimitri then, looked him over from head to toe, jaw clenching.For a second, I thought he might hit him.But Ivan just let out a long breath, rubbed a hand over his eyes, and said, “Both of you.We’re going home.”

He turned and marched toward the door, not waiting to see if we followed.

I exchanged a look with Dimitri, and nearly wept at the sight of his bloodied face.We walked in silence, side by side, shadows trailing behind us like secrets we could no longer keep.

Outside, the night had turned bitter, and I wished I had my jacket, but had left it in that horrible room.Ivan stood by his blue Lada Samara, its engine running, smoke curling from the exhaust like something dyed inside the engine.

We got in the back seat.Dimitri reached for my hand under the cover of his coat.I let him hold it, just for a second, before letting go.

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