Guys, I am SO sorry that it took me this long to update. I really wish I had a different reason other than the standard "oh I had so much work for school" thing again, but I don't. In case any of you out there are planning on getting a masters degree, be prepared to have to write a very long thesis and have a million assignments due at the same time. On the bright side, I have exactly 151 days until I graduate.

I tried to make this chapter a little longer to make up for the fact that I haven't update in so long. I already have a plan for the next chapter, and I do hope that I'll be able to update it sooner this time, especially with the end of the semester coming. Buuuut, I don't want to make any promises in case I end up not being able to keep them...

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Dmitry muttered as Vlad escorted a young woman from the room. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. He doubted he would remember her name a week from now. They had already seen so many desperate women, each one worse than the last.

"Well did you expect to find the perfect girl on the first try?" Vlad shot back. He slumped into his own chair and sighed heavily. "It will take time. And, you know, you could do something other than add cryptic comments here and there, Dmitry."

"Who's next?"

"No one, not tonight. It's getting dark."

Dmitry stood and stretched. They'd been sitting for a few hours now, and he missed roaming the city. He was never this stiff after a day of running his business in the streets. But Vlad had insisted that this project of theirs take precedence over anything else. Plus, the police had been cracking down hard on the black markets. The last thing he needed, right now, was to go to jail for selling stolen goods.

"We're running out of options," Vlad said dejectedly. "I don't know what we'll do if we don't find a suitable girl."

"Get on with our lives, maybe?" Dmitry suggested.

"What lives?" Vlad moaned. "This hardly counts as a life."

"Don't be so melodramatic, I've had enough drama for one lifetime."

Vlad suddenly stood up and grabbed Dmitry by the shoulders, shaking him slightly. Dmitry startled at the wild look in Vlad's eyes.

"Don't you understand, m'boy?" he said fervently. "We've got to get out of Russia. We could go to the North Pole, for all I care, as long as it's not here."

"You just want to go see Lily," Dmitry accused.

"I do not!" Dmitry raised an eyebrow, causing Vlad to scowl. "Okay, fine, that's part of it. But we do need to get out of Russia. It's not what it used to be."

"I'm well aware of how things have changed, Vlad." Dmitry stood and stalked to the door of the once grand ballroom. He hesitated a moment, touching the weathered woodwork, remembering how ornate it all seemed when he was a young boy.

"You know both of us would find better lives anywhere other than here," Vlad said.

"Maybe," he replied. "I need some air. I'll be back later. You don't have to wait up for me."

He left without waiting for Vlad's response. Leningrad was quiet at night at this time of year. It was mostly officers who were out on the streets after dark, along with the occasional woman standing on a street corner. But the thing he liked best about walking at night was that no one bothered him. There was no one around to spread rumors, or to try and barter with. He could clear his head in peace. And best of all, he could breathe easier outside the walls of the Yusopov Palace. Inside of it was oppressive, a constant reminder of what could have been.

He understood why Vlad had chosen it as their home and audition venue for now, but he resented it. There were so many memories of the Romanovs that were intrinsically intertwined with that palace. Those ones weren't so bad. But with the memories of the Romanovs came the memories of the end, and of Irina.

He still couldn't believe how selfish he'd been, all those years ago, having her take Anastasia's place in the Ipatiev house. Of course, at the time, he had no idea he was sending the girl to her death. He thought he'd had everything planned down to the last minute, and that everything would be fine.

Except everything wasn't fine. The Romanovs had been dead for nearly a decade, and Irina along with them. He often wondered if anyone had ever realized she wasn't an imperial daughter. Had she gone to her death with her true identity obscured by Anastasia's? And he had been the cause. It was disturbing to think about.

It made sitting through the auditions unbearable. Of course, they were pretty dismal on their own. But coupled with the memory of what he'd done only made it worse.

And he couldn't even figure out how the rumor had started in the first place. There was nothing to suggest that anyone had escaped the Ipatiev House. Dmitry had never told anyone what he'd done, not even Sir Thomas or Vlad. He couldn't, not when he could barely admit it to himself. So the fact that people were whispering about one of the children being alive was ridiculous to him. Not to mention the fact that everyone disagreed about which of the children had escaped.

The sun was just dipping below the horizon when he made it to the bridge. Most people would be in their homes by now, and the police would be patrolling. He couldn't stay long, or else risk looking suspicious and being detained. The current regime had no tolerance for such behavior. But he couldn't help being drawn to the bridge and visited it as often as possible.

It was the unlikeliest of memorials. No one knew of the significance it had, because no one knew that he had met the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanov on it. But he had, nearly twenty years ago. And every time he visited it, he would leave a few coins. Perhaps it was a ridiculous thing to do, but it felt important to him. The coins were always gone when he returned, and he knew he should at least wonder who took them and what they had been used for. Or perhaps the sensible thing to do would be to stop leaving coins. But it felt like an appropriate tribute. So he continued to do it.

With a quick check over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being watched, he quickly placed the coins on the ground. The sight brought him right back to that hot summer day for the briefest of instants, and then it was winter again and he was a man standing alone on a bridge.

He couldn't go through with Vlad's plan. He knew that wouldn't stop Vlad, and he doubted anything could. But he could distance himself as much as possible. He would let Vlad choose the poor girl, let Vlad do all the teaching and coaching. Dmitry wanted nothing to do with the plan.

He would have to double cross Vlad, if he wanted to go through with his own plan. Anastasia's grandmother deserved the truth. Vlad would be furious with him if he found out. But Vlad would understand if he knew.

The auditions continued for nearly a week, to no avail. With each one, Dmitry watched the women auditioning become worse, and Vlad become more desperate. None of them looked or acted anything like any of the former grand duchesses, nor could they take direction to at least pretend they were one. It was a wonder, Dmitry thought, that Vlad's nerves hadn't given out yet.

But the man wouldn't give up, it seemed. Each night, after they were done for the day, Vlad moaned and complained about each failed audition. But then each morning he was refreshed and hopeful again, and badgering Dmitry about helping out more.

"We'll find her today," he would say each morning. "I can feel it in my bones." And Dmitry would roll his eyes but say nothing.

They couldn't keep this up for much longer, though, and Dmitry was pretty sure Vlad knew that. He could see it in the way his friend deflated a little more each day. Dmitry wished he could do something to help the process along, if only so Vlad didn't look so dejected anymore. He knew he was desperate to get out of Russia, and possibly even more desperate to see Lily again.

Dmitry had gotten away with a lot in his life. So had Vlad. But he couldn't see how the two of them were going to pull this stunt off. Even if they were able to find a suitable imposter, they would have to somehow get all three of them out of the country by train. And with more and more borders closing down and the increased presence of the police at the stations, that idea was becoming more impossible by the hour.

Then, if they somehow managed to get to Paris, the imposter would have to convince not only Lily, but the Dowager Empress as well that she was a Romanov. And that idea was laughable. It would take one hell of a miracle to make this whole plan happen, he thought.

"Well you never know what miracle the universe might throw at us," Vlad sniped when Dmitry said as much. He rolled his eyes, earning him a swat on the arm with the book Vlad was holding at the time.

"The universe doesn't care about any of us," Dmitry said. "Why would it send anyone a miracle?"

"You never know," Vlad said cryptically. "Get a good night's sleep m'boy. We have another day of auditions tomorrow."

"Why bother?" Dmitry muttered. "Not gonna put me in a better mood."

"No, but I'll get a break from hearing your voice." Vlad smirked at him, and Dmitry couldn't help his own small laugh. He was about to respond with his own sarcastic answer when there was a furious knocking at the ballroom's door.

Dmitry immediately jumped up in a panic, nearly tripping over his feet. It was way after dark; no one ever came to see them this late at night. His heart began to beat faster as his mind raced to fill in every worst-case scenario.

"It's the police!" he hissed to Vlad. "Someone ratted us out, I'll bet!"

"Well don't just stand there, then!" Vlad whispered back, already dousing the lamps. "Do something!"

Dmitry sprang toward the fireplace, dumping water over the small flame. It sizzled out and he immediately missed its warmth and light but didn't have time to dwell on the cold. He shoved his and Vlad's bags under the sheet covering the sofa they had set up in the corner of the room. the knocking began again. He could hear Vlad struggling with empty food cans some distance away, but in the sudden darkness he couldn't tell where exactly his friend was.

Suddenly the ballroom door began to creak open. In a panic, Dmitry flung himself on the ground behind the sofa. Across the room there was the sound of cans dropping, and he knew Vlad had tried to hide as well. He could barely hear anything above his own breathing and racing pulse, but he could make out the slow footsteps of the person as they walked into the ballroom.

"Hello?" a woman's voice called out. Dmitry relaxed a little. The police typically didn't send women out to apprehend criminals. It was probably someone else who had come to audition who didn't respect typical business hours.

He was about to emerge from his hiding place when a high shriek nearly stopped his heart altogether. He hit his head on the bottom of the sofa as the scream cut off quickly. Cursing the visitor, he rubbed the sensitive spot.

"Sh, sh, sh," he heard Vlad say. "I'm sorry for startling you, my dear. You weren't who I was expecting to see."

"Who were you expecting to see, hiding in that corner?" the woman demanded.

"Well," Vlad said, drawing the word out, "you can never be too careful about who comes to see you. How can I help you?"

"I'm looking for someone called Dmitry?"

"Well who's asking for him?" Dmitry asked, finally standing up. The woman shrieked again, clutching her chest and doubling over in fright. Her brown hair spilled over her face as she composed herself. He heard Vlad's footsteps crossing the room again, headed towards the lamps he had put out just moments before. He struck a match and lit one of the lamps again, walking closer to the woman.

She was still doubled over, but in the light he could see that even straightened up she wouldn't be tall at all. Her boots and the hem of her skirt were flecked with mud, and even in semi-darkness it was obvious her coat was at least three sizes too big. Two small, thin hands smoothed her tangled hair back as she straightened up again. Dmitry realized he had been wrong about her hair before; it wasn't brown, but a dark blonde. The light hit her face, and she squinted at the flame.

It was a good thing Dmitry wasn't the one who was holding the lamp, because he would have immediately dropped it. He stared into the piercingly blue eyes of the woman standing in the middle of the ballroom, hardly daring to believe his eyes. The word fell from his lips before he could stop it.

"Nastya?"