Wrapped tightly in a towel, I stepped back into the room. Jurgen sat waiting on the sofa.

“I told you—give me my clothes.”

“The housemaid took them.”

“Who told you to wash my clothes without asking?”

He gave me a look of pure contempt as he replied.

“Then what—do you wear the same clothes again without laundering them?”

“I don’t have anything else to wear, what was I supposed to do?!”

Against my will, my voice rose. He clicked his tongue sharply in disdain.

“From now on, keep yourself clean. I can’t stand a woman I’ve kissed or touched being dirty.”

“…”

“Sit.”

Jürgen nodded towards the seat opposite him. When I did, he poured tea from the samovar.

“I will be graduating in February.”

Steam curled from the cup as he slid it toward me—black Meissen porcelain with a gold rim. Like the rest of his home, it was stocked with foreign imports.

“After graduation, I’ll be returning to Hildenbech. You should have your affairs in order before then.”

He laced his fingers together, waiting for my answer. I said nothing, mute and stifled.

“First, you’ll need to quit the repair shop. Do you speak any other languages? Do you speak Hildenbechian?”

“Just greetings…”

I sipped the tea. The sharp liquid burned in my empty stomach, but I needed something strong to keep my head clear.

“When will you release my brothers? Until then, I can’t cooperate.”

I forced myself to sound firm, cold, and deliberate.

“What do you mean by ‘can’t cooperate’?”

“Yesterday… I let myself get swept up in your tricks, but I don’t want anything like that to happen again.”

“You mean you won’t sleep with me?”

“When my brothers are freed, then—whatever you want, Jurgen—”

“Svyeta… Antonovna.”

Hearing him use my name with a formal patronymic made my chest tighten. After more than three years of knowing him, to suddenly address me so formally felt unnatural—deliberate, as if he were forcing distance between us.

“So I’m supposed to spend my money and time on a woman who won’t even sleep with me?”

“If you free my brothers, then I will. After all, Jurgen, you could be scamming me.”

“Then don’t believe me. Why should I concern myself with your trust?”

I shot to my feet. The towel slipped, baring me completely, but I was too distraught to care.

“Let’s talk about this another time. For now, I’m going home.”

“I told you yesterday, didn’t I?”

“Told me what…?”

“That this is your home now.”

Even when he tried to impose his will, I couldn’t protest — not when he had my brothers’ lives in his hands.

But what grounds did I have to trust him? A few photographs? Was that really enough to convince me that he could get them out of the camp?

“Are you a high-ranking official in hiding? Speaking so confidently about freeing them suggests that you must be at least an army officer — a field grade officer, at least.”

“Not an officer. But I have money.”

It was true—if one offered enough in bribes, even a camp prisoner could be released.

“How do you have money? A student devoted to communism ought to be poor.”

“I was born rich. And to the marrow, I am a capitalist.”

“A capitalist to the bone, with money to burn—and yet you came all the way to this frozen industrial city in Elkinsky to study?”

Jurgen rose from the sofa and came toward me.

“Rest.”

He walked past me and left the bedroom. Alone, I went back to the bed. I couldn’t go outside anyway as I didn’t have anything to wear.

Exhaustion overtook me and I dozed off. When I woke up with a start at five in the evening, Jürgen was gone.

Panic seized me. While he was out, I had to escape this house.

But I was left trembling like a leaf due to the cold, hunger and fatigue.

I opened his wardrobe and pulled out a shirt, trousers and a coat. At over six feet tall, his clothes were absurdly large, but I had no choice but to wear them as there was no other option. The trousers and coat dragged on the floor, and the shirt fell past my knees.

As I folded the trouser cuffs over three or four times, I had an idea.

‘How am I supposed to get home?’

Jürgen’s estate was tucked away deep in the forest. As there was no tramline cutting through these woods, walking was the only option. Every muscle in my body ached, and even by car, the city was half an hour away. Without a car, I would never make it.

Then I remembered: Jürgen had a car. If I could find the keys, I might be able to take it and escape. The unspoken rule against stealing someone else’s property no longer mattered. All I wanted was to leave this place. Ever since last night, I hadn’t been able to think straight.

I searched his briefcase first. Inside were neat stacks of foreign-language documents, but no keys.

Next, I searched his desk drawers. Some were locked, and the ones that weren’t contained only pens, watches, and a toolbox.

Where could he have hidden them?

Finally, I checked the pockets of his coats. In the inner lining of one of them, I found a set of keys to his luxury saloon car.

I put them in my pocket and left the room.

As he didn’t have a garage, the car was waiting for him in the garden. After a moment’s hesitation, I slid the key into the lock.

Click.

The door opened. I climbed in and started the engine. The smooth roar of the engine revealed the car’s quality.

I pressed the accelerator. The suspension was so finely tuned that the ride was almost effortless, even on uneven roads.

However, the snow made driving treacherous. Despite having snow chains fitted, the tyres kept slipping. As dusk fell and the roads became covered in snow, steering became torturous. Still, I forced the car onwards.

Suddenly, a flurry of black bats cut across my vision. My heart leapt and I slammed on the brakes, causing the car to lurch to a halt.

I was exhausted, both mentally and physically. If I kept driving like this, an accident would be inevitable.

I pulled over to the side of the road with no other option. I dropped my forehead against the steering wheel, gripping it tightly.

“I think of the soldiers sometimes. Those who never returned from the blood-soaked fields, who were never buried in their homeland. Perhaps they became white cranes, flying, flying—flocks of weary wings across the sky…”

I hummed the tune of a popular ballad, eyes shutting heavily.

“And since that day, they’ve flown above us, calling. Is that why we stand below, staring upward in sorrow…?”

The words escaped me, and I fell silent.

Then, with a long breath, I pressed the accelerator once more. The car rolled forward into the snowbound night.

After driving through snow for almost an hour, I finally arrived in the city. I managed to find my own building among the rows of identical apartment blocks.

Nearly collapsing from exhaustion, I dragged myself up the stairs. By the time I reached the sixth floor, I froze at the sight of someone waiting there: Archum Aslankovsky.

Archum Aslankovsky. The man I had secretly adored for the past five years.

The moment his pale blue eyes met mine, I pulled a face.

“Svyeta.”

“What is it?”

I forced my voice to sound casual, though every fiber of me wanted to throw myself into his arms. I wanted to pour out everything that had happened in the past few days, to beg him for help.

“Why are you wearing a man’s clothes…?”

He stepped towards me. I faltered, forgetting that the staircase was right behind me, and took a step back. I nearly tumbled down them before managing to catch myself on the railing.

The last thing I wanted was for Archum to find out what had happened with Jürgen. What woman would want the man she loved to know that she had slept with another man?

“Are you all right, Svyeta? You look awful.”

As he drew closer, my lips trembled violently.

“What are you doing here at this hour?”

I snapped, harsher than I intended. In this situation, I couldn’t face him the way I once had.

“The repair shop told me you hadn’t shown up today. Smirnov said he was very worried about you.”

“Yes. Something came up.”

“What happened?”

I knew exactly where his gaze had landed: on the marks that Jurgen had deliberately left on my nape. I rubbed the bruised skin and turned away from Archum.

“You’ve been with Jurgen all this time, haven’t you?”

“If you’re finished, please leave.”

I spoke coldly on purpose. He was about to get married; I didn’t want to spend much time talking to him. Besides, I didn’t have the energy.

“I’m tired.”

When he still refused to go, I added one more blow.

“From now on, keep your distance. You should be thinking about your fiancée, Aslankovsky.”