The first two weeks of their married life were marked by awkwardness. They behaved like shy teenagers, unsure how to act in each other's presence. Even the wedding arrangements had gone more smoothly. They addressed one another formally, which only heightened the tension between them.
Alex took two weeks off work after her visit to the hospital. Physical attacks on public transport were common in Gaul, especially in the Marshes. Fortunately, her encounter with the Borderland Nazi had left no concussion or serious injury, but the bruises and persistent headaches were enough for the doctor to prescribe rest.
Volodja usually left early in the morning. Alex never asked where he was going, but he always informed her of his movements and sent messages if he was delayed.
Alex lived in a three-storey house she affectionately called her Tower. There were two living rooms — one on the ground floor, another with the kitchen on the first — and bedrooms on the top floor.
One night, Volodja returned very late. Alex had left her bedroom door unlocked and heard him turn the key in the lock. He moved through the hall and living room almost soundlessly. The old spiral staircase barely creaked under his light footsteps.
The upper living room was separated from the stairs by an old sliding glass door that usually rattled, yet Volodja seemed to glide through it without a sound.
Unable to hear what he was doing downstairs, Alex crept out of bed on tiptoe and carefully opened the door, afraid of waking him if he had already gone to sleep.
Volodja had improvised a bedroom in the upper living room, though a spare room existed on the top floor. He had chosen not to sleep on the same level as his hostess to avoid making her uncomfortable.
He wasn't in the living room, but light spilled from beneath the closed kitchen door.
When Alex walked in, she startled him. He was sitting at the kitchen table, cleaning a gun. The sudden silence stretched taut between them. The shocked expression on her face alarmed him.
"Don't be afraid. I'll leave now," he said quickly, trying to conceal the weapon.
"Don't go. Please. Let's talk. I haven't spoken properly to anyone in a long time."
Volodja had a distinctive style. He wore classic black suits with white shirts printed with eccentric patterns. That night it was the one with tiny ants, sleeves rolled up. Alexandra reached out and touched his bare forearm to stop him from leaving. His skin was warm.
"Would you like tea or coffee?" she asked softly.
"Coffee, please," he replied in a whisper.
She felt his gaze on her back as she prepared the drinks.
"Did Emin tell you what I do for a living?" he asked after a while.
"No. Is it for protection?" she said, turning to hand him a steaming mug.
"No. It's for execution," Volodja answered, pausing to gauge her reaction. When she showed none, he continued. "I'll understand if you want to withdraw from the mission."
"No. It's too late for that. Besides, I don't want to. I'm not a coward or a traitor."
"I never said you were," he replied, irritation flickering — not at her, but at his colleague. "Emin didn't tell you about many important things before you agreed to help. This isn't a glamorous Gomorian spy film where you get to play the hero. No one will judge you for backing out."
"Don't underestimate me," Alex snapped, anger rising. "Do you think I don't know how dangerous it was to bring you here? Why do you think I insisted my parents stay in Scythia? I knew I'd be vulnerable if they were with me. If I have to die for the Scythe Empire, I will. But I won't let the Gauls or Gomorians touch my family. Emin didn't recruit me — I chose this. I made my decision, and I'll stand by it, no matter how much you ridicule me."
"I wasn't ridiculing you," Volodja said more gently, noticing how upset she was. "I was only checking whether we were on the same page. You mentioned you haven't talked to people in a long time. What about your family?"
"I meant I have no contact with anyone outside my immediate family."
"No friends?"
"I don't have any. I never did. And I don't like Gauls. I want nothing in common with them. I haven't made any Scythian friends yet either."
"But you were born here. Surely you had childhood friends or boyfriends over the years?"
"Oh, I did. But the word 'friend' is elastic for Gauls. They feel no obligation of loyalty, sincerity, or respect toward outsiders. As for boyfriends… I'm ashamed to admit I had relationships with them, which is why I prefer to pretend they never happened."
"They must have hurt you badly," Volodja said quietly.
"Who cares? Gauls never apologise. They believe they're superior to everyone else. It's satisfying to watch their illusions crumble."
"You really hate them, don't you? Is this your way of getting even?"
"It might look that way to an outsider. Think what you like. I'm not doing this for you," Alex retorted.
"I'm not judging you. I'd simply like to understand your reasons — who you're doing it for."
"I'm doing it for myself. I've never belonged anywhere, but I've always known I was a Scythe and that I was meant to do something meaningful for Scythia. My life is more than this depressing immigrant existence — pointless job, no future. Scythia must become the greatest country in the world, and I want to contribute to that. In that future, there will be a place for me, for my talents, for my knowledge."
"I see now why Emin chose you."
"Did he recruit you, too?"
"No. I was already working there when he joined. He was different back then — you wouldn't have recognised him."
"How old were you when you started with the Secret Services?" Alex asked curiously.
"Twenty-four. It wasn't planned, but I didn't hesitate. They caught me hacking a liberal website run by a Gomorian charity in Scythia. It turned out they were already investigating the organisation and discovered they weren't the only ones digging through its dirty laundry."
"Why were you hacking them? For money?"
"No. Money doesn't interest me."
"Judging by your fancy outfits, it could come in handy!" Alex teased.
"You have to keep up appearances," Volodja replied playfully, adjusting his sleeves in an exaggerated manner.
"I'm an ordinary guy from an ordinary family. What sets me apart is that I'm a Scythe. I've always been enormously proud of that. But my whole life I've had to listen to people insult my country — even other Scythes. Eventually I got tired of it and decided to fight the propaganda the only way I knew how. My small, solitary efforts weren't enough for the Secret Services, so they put me through a trial period. I hacked Gomorian databases, sabotaged their online conferences, crashed their systems…"
"But how did you become an assassin?"
"No excuse is truly good enough to take a life — that's what pacifists say. I'm not a pacifist. I could invent noble reasons to win your sympathy, but you're too intelligent to believe them. The truth is, I have no neat explanation. My view of life and death is… distorted."
"We both long for peace within ourselves," Alex said softly. "That peace will come once we achieve our goal — the prosperity of the Scythe Empire."
They fell silent. There was nothing more to say. Yet after that strange conversation, the ice between them had cracked.
From that night on, they met every evening in Alexandra's cosy kitchen when Volodja returned from his missions. No matter how long or tiring their days had been, they always made time for tea together.
In quiet, delicate ways they learned more about each other — family, travels, likes and dislikes, the lives they had led before they met. It was easy to talk to Volodja. His presence calmed the constant rage in her mind. She became more composed when dealing with Gauls. Her fights with her boss still occurred, but the violent fantasies of smashing his car or destroying his office had faded. Knowing she would see Volodja at night made the miserable days bearable.
One part of Volodja's life remained a mystery, however. Alex had no idea where he went each day. She told herself it was mere feminine curiosity, but the truth was simpler: Volodja was the first man who genuinely intrigued her.
She had to find out.