Sofia woke up to the smell of damp concrete.
It was a cold, raw scent that clung to the back of her throat. She was on a thin mattress in a small, windowless room. A single, bare bulb hanging from the ceiling cast a pale, sickly light.
A man was sitting in a simple wooden chair across from her. He wasn't large or menacing. He had a tired, intelligent face, and he was watching her with a look of profound, almost gentle, sympathy.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird in a cage. This was it. The end.
The man smiled, a small, sad quirk of his lips. "Do not be afraid, Sofia."
He spoke Russian, his voice calm and reassuring. He pushed a steaming tin cup towards her. "Tea. It will help with the cold."
She stared at the cup, then at him. This wasn't the violent interrogation she had imagined. It was something far more unnerving.
"My name is Stern," he said. "And I know you are not a radical. I know you are not a true believer in their cause."
He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his expression one of earnest understanding. "I have read your file. The Morozova family. Your brother, Alexei, in the Tsar's army."
Sofia flinched, the name a physical blow.
"They used him, didn't they?" Stern's voice was soft, compassionate. "The man they call Koba. He found your weakness, and he twisted it like a knife."
He was not guessing. He was stating facts.
"He is a monster, Sofia. A user of people. He throws lives away like spent matches." Stern sighed, a sound of genuine weariness. "He isn't coming for you, you know."
The words landed with the force of a slap.
"To him, you were a tool. A beautiful, effective tool that has now served its purpose. He is likely already planning his escape from Stockholm."
He let the poison sink in, watching her carefully.
"But I can help you," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I am not your enemy. Koba is. Help me dismantle his network, and I will see to it that your brother is transferred to a safe position far from the front."
He offered her the impossible. Hope.
"And you," he finished, his eyes boring into hers, "will be on a boat to America before the week is out. A new life. A clean slate."
He stood up and walked to the door. "Think about it, Sofia. Your loyalty to him... or your brother's life."
He closed the heavy door, the sound of the bolt sliding home echoing in the small, cold room. Sofia stared at the cup of tea, her world tilting on its axis.
The fog on the docks was a thick, gray beast, swallowing sound and sight.
The air smelled of salt, wet wood, and the distant promise of coal smoke. Jake stood on the pier, a ghost in the rough, borrowed clothes of a fisherman. The fishing trawler that would take him into the Baltic bobbed silently in the water.
Pavel was there. He wouldn't meet Jake's eyes. The rift between them was a raw, open wound.
"Get her back, Pavel," Jake said, his voice a low command that left no room for argument. "Follow Kato's lead. In everything. That is an order."
It was a command, but it was also a plea. Don't let our family break while I'm gone.
Pavel gave a short, jerky nod. He still thought it was a betrayal.
Jake turned to Kato. She stood apart from the others, a dark, still figure in the swirling mist. The world of men and boats and missions faded away. There was only her.
The moment was heavy with a thousand unspoken things. Goodbye. Be safe. I love you. All useless words, too small for the world they lived in.
He reached into his coat and pulled out the small, cold weight of his spare pistol. He didn't offer her words of encouragement. He pressed the gun into her hand.
Her fingers were like ice against his.
"Don't use it on them," he said, his voice a rough whisper, meant only for her. "If they catch you... if they corner you... use it on yourself."
Her eyes widened, shock and a terrible understanding dawning in them.
"I won't let them take you from me again," he vowed, the words a dark, twisted, and profoundly sincere declaration of love. It was the only kind their world would allow.
She stared at him for a long, silent heartbeat, the gray fog swirling around them. The pistol felt heavy in her hand. A promise. A curse.
Then, with a sudden, fierce movement, she broke the spell.
She grabbed the rough collar of his fisherman's coat with both hands. She pulled his face down to hers and kissed him.
It was not a soft kiss. It was not gentle or romantic. It was a desperate, bruising, almost violent act. A kiss that tasted of salt and fear and the bitter iron of their reality. It was a transfer of strength, of hope, of a raw, furious promise to survive.
Just as quickly, she pushed him away. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her lips slightly swollen, her eyes blazing in the gloom.
"Go," she commanded, her voice harsh and unsteady. "And come back."
He held her gaze for a second longer, memorizing her face. Then he turned without another word and boarded the trawler.
The deckhands cast off the lines. The engine rumbled to life, a low thrum that vibrated through the wooden pier.
The boat slipped its moorings and moved away, a dark shape swallowed by the gray, featureless fog.
Kato stood alone on the dock, the Finnish smugglers and Pavel fading into the background. She felt the cold, hard weight of the pistol in her hand. She felt the ghost of his kiss on her lips.
The weight of a kingdom settled onto her shoulders.
The king was gone, she thought, her fingers tightening around the gun.
It was the queen's move.