Page 27 of The Fire Beneath the Frost

I didn’t know whether to be relieved or crushed.

Petyr turned to me as he stood, smiling like he’d just eaten something delicious.

“That was amazing,” he said, brushing imaginary crumbs off his pants.“But the night’s not over yet.”

I blinked at him, dumb and dazed.

He leaned in close, like he was sharing a secret just for me.“I’m taking you to a club,” he whispered.“It’s called Sanctuary.”

Then he winked.

And started moving toward the exit with that casual, bouncy confidence he wore like an extra coat.

I just stood there, jacket half on, heat rising in my cheeks again.

What the hell wasSanctuary?

ChapterEight

Petyr

Iheld out my hand in the dark.The flickering credits lit Dimitri’s face in pulses—white, then shadow, then white again.He stared at my open palm like it might bite him.

I said nothing.I didn’t need to.He understood what I was offering.Not just help from the creaky velvet seat, but something else.A question I couldn’t speak aloud.

After a long second—two, maybe three—Dimitri slid his hand into mine.His skin was warm.Warmer than I expected, and dry like paper in winter.I tightened my grip and lifted him to his feet.

And then I let go.

We shuffled down the narrow aisle with the other filmgoers, coats rustling like dry leaves, boots scraping the cracked tile floor.I kept my hands jammed in my coat pockets, fingers still tingling from that brief, stupid, beautiful contact.

Outside, the cold wrapped around us like a punishment.The night air smelled like burnt coal and wet stone.My breath came out in ghosts.I couldn’t look at Dimitri.Not directly.Not yet.

The streets were mostly empty—too late for commuters, too early for the drunks.A trolley clattered past on the far side of the square, its windows steamed up, casting yellow light like a terrible memory.

I should’ve left it there.Should’ve said goodnight, gone home to a mug of watery tea, and tried to pretend that a man like Dimitri never would have taken my hand in the dark.But I couldn’t stop thinking about what I saw in the restroom earlier.

He was leaning against the cracked porcelain sink, with a cigarette dangling from his lips.Sergei.One of the old guard from Sanctuary.He nodded when he saw me and said nothing—but I knew what that meant.

“Is it still there?”I asked him casually, like I was asking about the price of eggs.

He didn’t answer right away.Just looked at me, eyes sharp.Then: “No.Moved last week.Same password.Bathhouse on Kirochnaya, three blocks from here.”

I barely had time to thank him before he stubbed out the cigarette on the sink and vanished like smoke.

And now here I was, walking with Dimitri, who might ruin everything.

If I was wrong—if I’d imagined the way he looked at me, the way he sat just a little too close in the cinema—then this was suicide.

If I was wrong, he could report me.One anonymous phone call to the wrong party official and I’d disappear like that cigarette smoke.Not just me, either.Every man at Sanctuary, every man who ever trusted me.

I had Vera, thank God.She could say all the right things.She could cry on cue.Our neighbors loved her.She’d never crack.

But if Dimitri ever found out that she and I were fake—just a pair of ghosts in a frame—then I’d be out of alibis.And Vera… she didn’t deserve to go down with me.

I couldn’t tell him.I wouldn’t tell him.If this night led to anything—if it became a story instead of a mistake—I’d tell him Vera didn’t know a thing.I’d lie through my teeth to keep her safe.

We walked in silence.Our boots crunched on the old frost.The bathhouse loomed just a couple of blocks ahead, abandoned by the city but reborn by us.Its windows were dark.Always dark.

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