Chapter 7

"Everybody's damaged. It's just a question of how badly, and whether you're healing or still bleeding."

― Angela N. Blount, Once Upon a Road Trip

Rose -

The people call him Zmey.

"What does it mean?"

Tori, distracted by her reflection in a small smudgy mirror at the top of the unit stairs, doesn't seem to hear my question. "Hmm?" she asks, tilting her head to the side and examining a spot of dirt on her cheek.

"Zmey," I say, though I can't tell whether I'm pronouncing it correctly. "Is it a name?"

Tori licks her thumb and then rubs it against her face. "More of a nickname - and not a nice one."

"What does it mean?" I ask again, eager to figure out my next lead.

Lena hadn't given me much to go on the night before - only mentioning that this mysterious Zmey might be able to help me find my friend. But by the time she'd finished patching me up, including giving me a pair of clothes to change into, it had been late and most of the unit's occupants had been asleep - including Tori.

After pestering me with questions about whether I would be comfortable sharing a room with her youngest daughter and grandchild, Paul, Lena had sent me to bed as well - a small cot set up in a room already crowded with two narrow beds.

Sleep had been elusive - it had been the first time in months I'd gone to bed without massive amounts of alcohol coursing through my system. I'd kept my fists balled in the thin sheets to keep from trembling, tossing and turning - sweating and shaking until I thought I might be sick, but exhaustion had finally claimed me.

I'd awoken this morning to Tori shooing Paul, who had apparently been staring at me for the past ten minutes, out of the room. After bidding me good morning and telling me she had to leave for school, she had rushed out of the room - pulling on her boots as she went.

Groggy as I was, the word Zmey had still clung to the edges of my consciousness and I'd followed her out of the room to ask for whatever explanation she could give me.

"It means snake," says Tori, making a playful hissing noise. "But not just any snake - like a serpent. It's mostly used in myths and stuff - stories where heroes have to battle giant monsters."

No one earns a nickname like snake for their charm.

I blink at her in disbelief. "And this Zmey - this snake...he helps people?" I try to keep my question vague. Though I had confided my true purpose for being here to Lena, Tori still assumes I'm just another lost girl on the run - and for some reason, I want to keep it that way for as long as I can.

"When he wants to," Tori tells me, sounding uneasy for the first time. "Listen, I have to go - I promise you can ask me as many questions as you want later." She turns and begins scampering down the stairs, taking them two at a time. "Everyone is probably at work by now so you'll have to fend for yourself - eat whatever you can find. Paul is around here somewhere, but he'll be fine. His mom, Kara, usually gets off work early." The words pour out of her like a firehose as she reaches the bottom of the stairs. "Don't go outside, and try to avoid Yeva if you can. Have a good day!"

The door slams behind her.

"What the hell is a Yeva?" I mutter to myself, turning to inspect the second floor of the housing unit.

Everything is still and quiet in the wake of Tori's abrupt departure. I glance down the long hallway, lined with peeling yellow wallpaper and chipped floorboards. I realize that from the outside - this unit is deceptively small. I pad down the hallway to investigate further, and see that where the wall dividing this unit from the neighboring one should be - there is only more hallway. I look down and see a thick faded line running across the floor, where the wood is a little cleaner and a little less worn - probably where the wall had once stood.

This housing unit is twice the size of the one I'd been occupying, which makes sense when I consider how many people seem to be living here: Tori, Lena, the scary pregnant woman, Tori's niece and nephew - whose names I now know are Paul and Zoya, and their mother, Kara - who I'd yet to meet.

Dragging one hand down the wall as I go, I wonder whether this family had been given permission to occupy two units, or if they'd done so in secret - like Lissa and Victor had done with their unit.

At the end of the hallway on the right is another set of stairs. They creak beneath my bare feet as I descend, and at the bottom I find myself in another kitchen space, though this one is much nicer than the one I'd woken up in yesterday. There are cabinets and plenty of counter space for preparing meals. My stomach rumbles at the thought and after a few moments of hesitation, I begin rummaging through the kitchen, searching for something edible.

There are a few cans of meat and beans, but mostly jars of mashed fruits and vegetables. The other room must be where the majority of the food is kept, but one more growl from my stomach and I find myself popping open a jar of mashed carrots. I'm surprised I can still bring myself to eat carrots after my days in the field, but the hollow places in my stomach don't seem to care what I put in my mouth.

"Why are you eating baby food?"

I let out a yelp and whirl around, nearly dropping the jar on the floor. On the far side of the room is a little boy, seated at a miniature table complete with miniature chairs and cushions. I recognize Paul from this morning. I chastise myself for not having noticed him when I'd come downstairs. Getting a little rusty there, Rose.

"You scared me," I say, loosing a breath. "Baby food did you say?" I turn to set my meager breakfast on the counter. "Thanks for the heads up."

Paul's only response is a small, guarded smile.

I haven't spent much time around children. I'd certainly seen them running around the various compounds I was sent to investigate, but never had any reason to interact with them. They were always fascinated by the men and women in jumpsuits - too young to fully understand why their parents and neighbors were so afraid, too young to know any better. I remember thinking it was nice to be looked at with something other than hatred.

Paul stares at me in the way that only a child can - curious and expectant. I smile at him and he quickly turns his attention back to his drawing, a light pink flush coloring his cheeks. The small table is littered with broken crayons and sheets of paper - the sight is strangely endearing.

"What are you working on?" I ask, coming to peer over his shoulder.

"Nothing!" he insists, throwing himself forward to cover the paper in front of him with his small arms.

"It's okay," I tell him, moving around to the other side of the table. "You don't have to show me, but do you mind if I sit with you?"

Paul glances at the tiny wooden chair opposite the table from him, then at me. "You're too big," he says matter-of-factly.

"Fine, I guess I'll have to sit on the floor." I flop gracelessly onto the floor across from him. "May I?" I ask, already sliding a sheet of paper and a few broken crayons toward me.

Paul moves his arm to the side of his paper, using it as a barrier to ensure that I still can't see his work. "Okay," he mumbles. "But only if you promise not to break that one," he points to a blue crayon, one of only two that has not been snapped in half.

"Promise," I tell him with a smile.

He seems satisfied by this and resumes his work. I look down at my own sheet of paper and begin drawing - though I have zero artistic ability and zero sense of what I'm actually drawing. After a few minutes of silent scribbling, I feel Paul's attention return to me.

"What is it?" I ask, not looking away from my paper. "You can ask me whatever you like."

"My mom says I'm not supposed to ask our guests questions - that it can upset them ."

Now I do look up.

I can think of many reasons Paul would have been told not to ask questions of the women taken in here. The less everyone knows about the parties involved, the safer they all are - you can't betray or give up information you don't have. But the more likely reason is that they don't want to risk re-traumatizing the women they have risked everything to help by forcing them to recount the events that led them to flee in the first place.

"You won't upset me," I assure him.

Paul continues to stare at me and I can see the indecision play out across his small features - he wants to ask but doesn't want to risk getting in trouble with his mom.

"Are you a boy or a girl?" he finally blurts out.

The question makes me laugh and Paul smiles uneasily, clearly confused by my outburst.

"Guess." I tell him, and his smile melts away.

"My mom says we shouldn't assume things about people - like whether they're a girl or a boy.

"She sounds like a good mom," I say, and Paul nods enthusiastically. "Since you asked so nicely - I'll tell you. I'm a girl."

"Then why do you have short hair?" he asks as an immediate follow-up.

"Girls can have short hair."

"I know," says Paul defensively. "But most of them don't - not around here, anyway."

"Fair," I concede. "I cut my hair so that people would think I was a boy."

He tilts his head to the side, his drawing completely forgotten. "Like a disguise?"

"Exactly - a disguise."

"Was being smelly also part of your disguise?" he asks, still managing to sound innocent. "Tori couldn't stop talking about how smelly you were last night."

I make a mental note to thank Tori for her kind words. "Yes, actually. I was smelly on purpose."

Paul lets out a giggle. "How come you wanted to smell bad?"

I hesitate, struggling to find the right words to explain why I had been so content to let myself go, wondering how much of it he'll understand. "I wanted to make sure no one got too close to me."

It's true, but not as simple as my words make it seem. I had needed to disappear. Yes, I'd cut my hair and bound my breasts - but it was more than that. I rarely bathed, smudging my jaw and beneath my eyes with dirt and coal when I could. Between the filth and the scars and my hunched shoulders - the transformation had been remarkable. I looked as hollow and broken as I felt on the inside, and it had ensured that no one ever looked too closely at me.

People in need make us uncomfortable. We can't meet the eyes of the less fortunate when we pass them on the street - either because we're ashamed of our own inaction or because we believe they've done something to deserve their suffering - the needy might as well be ghosts.

"That sounds lonely," Paul murmurs, returning to his drawing.

I look down at my own meandering lines of color, "It is." I agree.

The sound of soft, shuffling footsteps pulls me from my reverie and I shoot to my feet - fists raised.

"Paul!" I hiss. "Get behind me." My eyes dart around the bottom floor of the unit, my heart thundering. "Paul!" I repeat when he doesn't get up from his tiny seat. I glance down at him and see that he's silently chuckling. "What is it?"

"It's just Yeva," he says through laughter.

Just then - a small gray woman reaches the bottom of the stairs and turns to face us, her frail arms braced on her hips.

"So that's a Yeva," I mutter to myself, my heart still ramming against my ribcage.

Yeva stands barely five feet tall, with patches of wispy gray hair covering her head. It's a wonder she even made it down the stairs, I think to myself. Though despite her age, she stares at me with dark cunning eyes and I find that I am instantly creeped out by her.

"You scared me," I say, forcing a laugh and lowering my hands.

Yeva blinks, then launches into a tirade of words I can't understand - a slim finger pointed in my direction.

"Paul," I plead out of the corner of my mouth. "What is happening?" My eyes flick down to him and I catch him wiping away a tear, too overcome by laughter to respond. "This isn't funny!" I insist. "Help me!"

Yeva shuffles closer, still speaking rapidly in some unknown language. I try to concentrate on her words and suck in a breath when I realize that I do know what language she's speaking.

"Is that...is that Russian?" I ask skeptically.

Paul, having recovered from his fit of giggles, answers "Yep! How'd you know? Most people here haven't heard it before."

I can feel my heart physically breaking in my chest. Thoughts of Dimitri flood my mind and it takes all of my control not to let them drown me.

"I just - do you know what she's saying?" I croak.

Paul nods. "She says your response was slow - that you wouldn't notice anyone was coming even if they walked up and hit you in the -"

"Got it," I snap, cutting him off.

Yeva pauses to glare at me, then turns and shuffles to the cabinets, still muttering to herself in Russian.

I have decided that Russian from this old bat is decidedly less sexy than Dimitri's.

The coming days pass much in the same way as my first had. I spend my early mornings with Paul - coloring, playing hide and seek, making up stories and occasionally acting them out for his baby sister, Zoya later in the evening. My afternoons are spent regaining my strength - doing interval training and whatever other exercises I can manage in the confined space. Every inch of me hurts and it takes all of my control to keep from hobbling around the unit like a newborn deer.

All of the women here have been more than welcoming. They continue to share their home, their meals, and their kindness with me - all without asking a single question about me or my past. Well, almost all of the women. Yeva is content to limit her interactions with me to long-winded rants in Russian. Dimitri had never taught me any actual Russian words or phrases, but I know a cuss word when I hear one, and Yeva makes my old academy instructors seem demure by comparison.

I do occasionally allow myself the small pleasure of shouting back at her when Paul isn't around, though my responses are usually related to a certain Russian man whose company I much prefer to the old crone's. The first time I'd mentioned Dimitri in passing, Yeva had stared at me with her dark eyes, then let out a breathy laugh before padding back into her bedroom and slamming the door in my face.

Now I find myself talking to her about him more and more. A part of me insists that I do it because it seems to be the only thing that will shut her up, but another part of me knows it's because I miss him - and I need to say it out loud and Yeva is the perfect listener because she can't actually understand me.

It feels good to let myself think about him again, though it still hurts. I had pushed him so far out of my thoughts that I'd almost forgotten what I was fighting for. Instead of keeping my head clear of distractions, letting go of my love for him had created a void - and I'd filled it with the worst things I could find.

Natasha is wrong. She's the one who made a mistake that day - she can't use my love for Dimitri to break me, because it's the only thing that has ever made me stronger without taking anything from me. It's a self-sustaining, all-encompassing love, and if she'd had enough depth or compassion to understand what that kind of love is like, she would know that she cannot break me with it.

I plan to tell her as much when I see her - just as soon as I can find her.

A few weeks after my arrival, Lena comes home a little later than usual - pale and shaken.

Tori and I sit with Paul at his tiny table, listening to him tell a story he'd made up earlier that day. He uses a set of old dolls to act out his tale, explaining that the doll clutched in his right hand is not a real bride, though she appears to be wearing a tattered wedding dress. She is actually a civilian spy - pretending to marry a military captain so that she can infiltrate its ranks.

Though he seems so young, Paul has a gift for storytelling. Just as I'm about to tell him as much, Lena calls out to me.

"May I have a word?" she asks quietly, and I rise quickly to my feet. She's usually so warm and composed, and her current state sets off tiny alarms in my head. Has the RPD found me? Have I stayed too long? Is she going to ask me to leave?

My eyes flick to the front door of the unit - dreading that it will burst open and investigators will barge in to arrest us all, but the door remains firmly shut. I follow Lena up the stairs and toward the small bathroom where she'd patched me up on my first night here.

Kara, Paul and Zoya's mother, emerges from the bathroom with her baby girl bouncing on her hip. Fresh from a bath, Zoya is wrapped in a soft yellow towel, her tiny hairs sticking out everywhere and burbling happily. Steem billows out after the pair, filling the hall with the sweet smell of soap and something that is distinctly baby.

"All yours," Kara says to me with a smile. She turns to coo softly to her daughter and then disappears into one of the bedrooms.

I follow Lena into the bathroom, still unsure of what's going on.

"Shut the door," she tells me, reaching into the tub to turn on the faucet. "We only have a few minutes."

Does she plan to wash me in the tub like Zoya? I fight the urge to covertly smell myself and do as she says, my brow furrowed in confusion until I realize that she doesn't want to be overheard and that the cap on access to water and electricity in the compound has put a time limit on our conversation.

"Zmey has agreed to meet with you," she whispers, and though I can hardly hear her over the rush of the water, the words still stun.

"When?" I ask, heart racing.

She swallows. "Tonight."

"Lena - thank you so much." I take a step forward to hug her but she holds up a hand to stop me.

"Don't thank me yet," she says in a firm, but still motherly tone. "Zmey is very well connected, yes, but he is also extremely dangerous - he's a criminal. Just meeting with him could get you into trouble, and he never does anything for free."

"I don't have any resources, I have no way to pay -" I start to tell her, panic rising in my voice. This could be my last chance to find Dimitri.

"That doesn't mean he won't cut a deal with you, it just means he'll ask for something else - a favor usually."

"What kind of favor?" I ask uneasily.

Lena shakes her head. "I don't know, but whatever he asks - you'll have to do it. Bad things happen to people who try to cross Zmey."

"If this man is as bad as you say, you shouldn't be talking to him or however you managed the introduction," I tell her, hating myself for not realizing the situation Lena has put herself in for me. "Brokering this meeting has put you and your family at risk."

Lena smiles at me, and the water shuts off abruptly. "When I first saw you, the look in your eyes the night Tori brought you here - I could tell you would do anything to find your friend, probably something stupid and dangerous. Meeting with Zmey is still dangerous...but less stupid than whatever you had planned."

I can't help but laugh. "You're probably right. I don't know how I can ever repay you."

"We've seen a lot of women and young girls come through here. We always try to help in whatever way we can, and there's only one thing I ask of them in return." This time, she reaches out to me for an embrace. "Live," she whispers, squeezing me tightly. "Live to fight another day."

_
Lena's instructions are to sneak out as soon as the power is turned off for the night. I'm to meet Zmey at the resource distribution center warehouse, and I am to come alone.

Until then, Tori is rummaging through her closet, searching for a dark coat she swears will be perfect for my clandestine mission.

"Where is it?" she grumbles, growing frustrated. She continues pulling various garments out of the small closet and throwing them onto the bed.

"Don't worry about it," I insist, pulling on my ratty boots. "I'll just wear the captain's coat."

Tori goes rigid at the mention of the provincial guard captain I'd left sprawled in the alley on my first night here. The next morning, I'd peered out of the same window I had crawled through to see that he had disappeared without a trace. None of the women had heard any rumors of a retired guard captain being attacked, only that he had vanished - and most seemed to believe that Rolan had something to do with it. It makes sense, the last time anyone had really seen the man had been at Rolan's, but no one really cares enough to look into it and risk the kingpin's wrath.

It seems I'm in the clear as far as the captain is concerned, but I still can't shake the feeling that he's out there somewhere. Though a part of me needs to believe that he is - needs to believe that I haven't killed again.

"What will you do if you're caught?" Tori asks, returning to her search. "How will you explain where you got that coat?"

I shrug, rising to my feet. "I won't get caught."

She glances at me over her shoulder, then smiles. "So confident," she teases. "Well, if you're sure." Tori yanks the last remaining sweater off of its hanger and shrugs it on. "What do you think of this?" she asks, completely switching gears.

"It's nice," I tell her, and it is. "Where are you off to?"

She flashes me a mischievous grin. "Rolan's."

"Tori," I say slowly, unsure of how to phrase my apprehension. "Why would you go there? I've spent a lot of time at his unit, it doesn't seem like the best place for a-"

"For a girl?" she asks, hands braced defiantly on her hips. "Maybe I should cut my hair first, make them think I'm a boy like you did."

"That's not what-"

"Stop being a hypocrite." Her words sting, but I try not to let it show. "I'm just as capable as you."

"That might be true," I admit. "But that doesn't answer my question - why are you going over there?"

"I don't need to explain myself to you," she says with a huff. "You don't know me - not really, and I don't know you. I don't even know your name!"

I stare at her for a few moments, letting the tension hang in the air like smoke. "I never thought to ask what you were doing at Rolan's...the night you found me."

"He invites me over sometimes," she says nonchalantly, moving past me and into the hallway to gaze into the mirror. "It's nothing," she insists.

I lean against the frame of the door, watching Tori stare at her own reflection. She's beautiful - dark hair and eyes, but with hints and streaks of gold everywhere.

"You're right - you don't owe me an explanation," I tell her. "Just be careful. You said it yourself - the first night we met - you said you couldn't just leave me in that place, because it isn't safe."

"Yeah, because you were passed out drunk," she snaps, not at all placated by my words. "I took care of you then and I can take care of myself now."

The lights suddenly go out, and I curse silently to myself - I have to go.

"Okay," I relent, though I hate myself for doing so. "Just be careful." I find myself wondering how much Tori would hate me if I went behind her back and told her mother what she was up to.

Now shrouded in darkness, I can't see Tori's expression but I can still feel her frustration when she says. "I'm not the one who needs to be careful. Zmey makes Rolan seem like a puppy by comparison."

Tendrils of fear slither along my bones, her words making my insides churn. "I'll be fine." I turn toward the stairs, reaching out in the darkness to find the bannister.

"My name is Rose," I tell her over my shoulder. "By the way." I'm not sure why I say it - perhaps it's just one more thing I need to say out loud, that I need another living soul to know.

I make my way out of the unit on silent feet, practically reveling in having to use my old skills again. The weather is finally starting to turn - the air isn't quite as cold and the ground isn't quite as hard. A smattering of stars provides the only bit of light for miles and miles. The night would even be beautiful if it weren't so eerily quiet.

The RDC warehouse is on the far side of the compound, tucked away beneath the looming shadows of the concrete walls. Memories surface in my mind of the desperate escape attempt that Lissa, Dimitri, Adrian, and I had made from the Midwestern province what feels like ages ago. We had barely made it out in one piece. But when I remember the way Lissa had screamed my name as the gates closed behind me - I realize that perhaps we didn't.

I make it to the warehouse unscathed, only having to avoid one provincial guard making her rounds. When I reach for the handle of the door, I find that it's unlocked and I can't decide if an unguarded warehouse is a good sign or not. RDC warehouses are meant to be sealed up tight to prevent people from stealing food and other supplies. If this Zmey has the resources and connections to gain access to government-operated buildings, then maybe he really could help me find Dimitri.

Or maybe he could turn me over to the RPD - maybe he could kill me.

Only one way to find out, I think to myself. I push the door open as carefully as I can manage, letting out an inaudible sigh of relief when the hinges don't squeal. I slip into the warehouse, pushing the door shut behind me with a soft click. The warehouse is deadly silent and pitchblack. I suck in a deep breath, then take a few tentative steps forward, arms extended in front of me as I try to blindly navigate my surroundings.

"You must be my next appointment," comes a voice, the words slicing through the black and the silence.

My heart leaps into my throat at the sound and I immediately fall into a defensive position, arsm still raised.

"Who's there?" I demand, but the words come out as more of a croak than an order. I squint helplessly into the darkness, but even as my eyes try to adjust - I still can't make out even the faintest outline.

A small flame is suddenly ignited, casting a faint pool of light on the far side of the warehouse. The sight is disorienting, but I force myself to move slowly toward the flickering firelight, my surroundings coming into sharper focus with every step.

"Why ask questions you already know the answer to?" the voice chides. The sound is distinctly male, the words accented, and the tone reserved.

I'm close enough now to see that the source of the light is a single candle poised atop a small table. A pair of folded hands rests on the table near the candle, but the light doesn't go so far as to illuminate much more of the person sitting behind it.

"That's close enough," the stranger tells me, his face shrouded by the shadows and a hood pulled down low.

"Zmey, I presume?" I try to say the name the way Tori had, not wanting to sound like an idiot.

The man chuckles, "I have many names, but yes - my friends like to call me Zmey."

"You let your friends call you a word that means snake?" I ask disbelievingly. "I'd hate to hear what your enemies call you."

Zmey pulls his slender hands from the table. "My enemies often find it quite hard to speak any words at all, let alone call me names."

From any other person, those words would seem hollow and false. From any other person, they might have even made me laugh. But I can feel the truth behind them now, sense his surety and his conviction. Lena had been right to try and warn me - this man is dangerous.

"Your reputation precedes you," I tell him, trying to match his casual confidence.

"I don't like the sound of that," he tuts. "A man in my line of work must take great care to avoid having any reputation at all."

"And what exactly is your line of work?" I ask, shifting my weight from side to side, trying to shake off the anxiety coursing through me.

"Secrets," he tells me, and even though his face remains shrouded in darkness, I can feel the corners of his mouth pull into a wickedly sharp smile.

I recall the way Rolan had plied provincial guards and other government workers with drinks and praise - sucking up to them and doing anything he could to trick them into giving up privileged information.

"What kind of secrets?" I ask.

Zmey moves one hand back into the bubble of light, his fingers drumming idly against the table. "All kinds. Any secret - no matter how big or how small - can be valuable in the right hands."

"Or dangerous in the wrong ones," I bite back.

"Indeed. I suspect you have many secrets."

"What makes you think that?"

"How long have you been in this compound?" he asks, seeming to avoid my question, his hands now steepled together in front of him.

"Not long," I insist. "A few weeks at most."

"Right, and where were you before?"

The Southeastern Province." I respond quickly.. "I was separated from my family during the Executor's last round of population shifting initiatives." The lie comes easily to my lips. A story built on half-truths. It's one I've told many times as I bounced from compound to compound.

"I see," muses Zmey. "And is that who you're looking for? Your family?"

My back stiffens. "Who says I'm looking for anyone?" I had hoped to reveal my true purpose for behind here at the last minute, only when absolutely necessary.

"My dear, I don't take meetings unless I have all of the facts. Lena told me what you want, and I am prepared to help you…" his voice trails off.

"Why do I feel like there's a very big if coming?" I ask, folding my arms tightly across my chest.

Zmey lets out a low chuckle. "Nothing comes for free - not in this world."

"I have nothing to give," I say matter-of-factly.

"I think we both know that simply isn't true."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I ask, some of my previous fear melting away into contempt.

"You did quite a number on that guard captain," he tells me, sounding almost impressed. "Most people don't come by the ability to inflict that kind of damage naturally. Especially if they're your size." My stomach bottoms out at the mention of the guard. "Come now," he continues, sensing my surprise. "I told you - secrets are my trade. Nothing happens in this compound without my knowing. You're welcome, by the way."

I blink at his words, realization washing over me. "It was you - you're the one who...took care of him? Why would you do that?"

"Curiosity mostly. I wanted to know more about you, and I couldn't very well do that if you'd been locked away now could I."

I swallow hard. "Why would you want to know more about me? I'm no one."

"I'm, again, afraid that we both know that to be untrue."

I shake my head fervently, taking a few steps back. "You're mistaken - I don't know who you think I am or what it is you think I can do, but -"

"Like I said," he interjects, cutting me off. "Nothing happens in this compound without my knowledge. So, when a single man shows up claiming to have been dumped here as a result of a government initiative to even out compound populations, I take notice. Why would only one man be sent so far? The foreman and the local provincial government didn't care enough to check your story, but I did."

I want to run, but my feet feel rooted to the spot.

"And do you know what I found, Ivan? There were never any orders issued for civilians to be transferred to this region, quite the opposite in fact. People are being taken away from here. So I thought to myself, why would this poor young man come to this compound, and why would he lie about how he came to be here? Alas, curious as I was - I knew the answer would likely reveal itself if I waited. I am a very patient man, after all."

"You've been watching me," I tell him, not bothering to phrase the words in the form of a question.

"Indeed," he agrees. "Though I must say, I nearly lost interest. The reports on your movements and habits were quite depressing."

"Sorry my existence isn't more exciting," I grind out.

"Then it happened - that day in your unit. One person goes in, another follows - then two come out, but one is unfortunately dragging the other. I was prepared to have my people intervene soon after - to catch you if you tried to run, but then we found a most peculiar thing on the guard's person. Do you know what it was?"

Definitely not a coat, I think to myself. "Enlighten me."

Zmey's hands retreat into the darkness for a brief moment, emerging in the next to slide a worn out piece of paper onto the table - the word "Wanted" printed in block letters across the top.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

Why hadn't I checked the guard's pockets? He'd known my name - he'd clearly seen my wanted poster. Why didn't I realize that he likely had a copy of it? He would have needed it to turn me in and collect his reward. Then I remember the flask of booze I'd found in the guard's coat pocket - I'd been too distracted by the prospect of a drink to consider what should have been obvious.

"Imagine my surprise when I finally figured it out. I knew the chances that you actually were who you claimed to be were slim, but this? Rose Hathaway - the infamous Lonestar Kid, it was almost too good to be true." He stumbles on the last few words, the first time I've heard him falter even slightly.

"What do you want from me?" I ask, knowing there would be no use in trying to lie. "Are you going to turn me in? Is that it?"

Zmey rises slowly to his feet. "If I wanted to turn you in, I would have done so long ago."

"Then what is it?" I demand. "Why wait all this time to reveal what you know? Why wait for me to come to you?"

"Lena is a good woman. I knew you would be safe with her."

His answer catches me off guard. "Why would you care about that?"

"Because you'll need your strength for what's going to happen next."

"Does this mean you're going to help me find -" I catch myself before saying Dimitri's name. I'm not ready to tell this man any more than I need to. "Help me find my family?"

He extends his hand for the last time, his long fingers pinching the wick of the candle to douse the flame.

"Yes, Rose. I am going to help you find your family."