Collaboration with @silmarilz1701
Svetlana knew how to play the game. She'd been caught in the political drama of Stalin's inner circle since birth. The only child of one of Stalin's closest friends, she grew up in the limelight, scrutinized by frie...
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She stood on a precipice. Before her the darkness of night, stretching on and broken up only by small candles in dusty windows. Behind her the black shadow of Alexander Samsonov, of Joseph Stalin, of Lavrentiy Beria. And Sveta stood between them on the edge. A familiar sensation, though this void felt colder than she remembered.
They wouldn't find her here. Not here, looking out through the window with only a few candles as warmth. No one expected Sveta to be in an attic.
They should've though.
She could smell mold. Sveta remembered that smell, of mildew eating away at the planks beneath her now booted feet. Even a decade later she knew it.
She also knew what Zhanna had seen. The way she'd clawed herself away, putting the Americans between herself and Sveta. Sveta knew what she saw, because she now saw it in the mirror every day. She saw the NKVD. Sveta had hidden from them for a decade. But she'd become one.
Outside, she saw movement on the street. Martial law had been declared after they'd found the camps. Her eyes closed. The camps. She'd only heard stories of the GULAG camps. Sveta didn't know if they resembled the ones found by the Allies. But she knew Beria, and she wouldn't have put it past the NKVD.
Now the Americans moved to secure the town. Men at every corner, curfew for Germans at 1900 hours. She watched the Military Police patrolling. Black and white arm bands, black and white marks on their helmets.
Sveta turned away. She looked back into the flickering room. The candles gave a soft glow. It seemed almost peaceful. Their light reflected off the bottles of schnapps that she'd found. Her dark stare could scare any of the enlisted who knew her name. The Samsonovs inspired fear everywhere. The window became fascinating once more. Tears stained her cheeks.
She heard a knob turn. Wood scraped against wood. She whipped around and found herself face to face with Ron Speirs, leaning against the small wall of the five steps up into the attic. So. He'd found her after all.
Sveta hadn't wanted to be found. But those hazel eyes. They always found her.
He looked exhausted. It wasn't often Ron Speirs showed his fatigue, but standing there with his head slightly cocked and mouth drawn in a thin line, shadows of flickering candles splashing darkness on his skin, he showed it.
Neither spoke. Sveta just watched him from the window, watched as he took in the attic. He found the bottles of schnapps almost immediately and showed no sign of surprise. Ron moved from the stairs then, letting the door close behind himself. His boots creaked against the wooden floor as he moved to her.
Her left side still leaned on the wall. Sveta needed the anchor. He mirrored her, still not saying anything. A battle of wills. But Sveta didn't have the energy, didn't have the fire to put up a fight. It took no time for her to break eye contact, wiping away her tears with her arm. Sveta pushed away, back to him.
