The cold had settled deep into the village, the crisp air biting at Anya's skin as snow fell in heavy sheets. She pulled her hood lower over her face, her breath coming out in small puffs of white. The once quiet village was now crawling with soldiers, their boots crunching loudly over the snow-packed streets. Their eyes were sharp, scanning, watching.
It wasn't outright hostility—at least, not yet. But the weight of their presence was suffocating.
Anya kept her pace steady, her hands tucked inside her coat as she navigated toward the market. The military's hold on the area was tightening by the day, and rumors had begun to spread among the villagers. Some whispered about a new base being built nearby. Others claimed the soldiers were searching for someone. A spy.
That last one sent a shiver down Anya's spine, and not from the cold.
She reached the village store, pushing the wooden door open. A wave of warmth greeted her, along with the scent of dried herbs and old wood. An elderly shopkeeper stood behind the counter, his wrinkled hands wiping down a stack of supplies.
"What's the news today?" she asked, keeping her voice casual.
"More patrols." The man grunted, his tone edged with unease. "And they're watching us closer. You should be careful, Anna."
Anna. The name she had carefully woven into this village. A name with no past, no ties, no reason to be questioned.
Anya nodded, murmuring a quiet thanks as she picked out a few small necessities—things that wouldn't draw suspicion. As she handed over a few coins, her mind drifted to the soldier she had seen earlier.
Damian Graves.
She didn't know his name, not yet. But she had seen the way his eyes moved, the way his gaze lingered on the village as if he were searching for something. Or someone.
She had been careful. She had made sure to blend in. But there was something about the way he had looked across the street that unsettled her.
She needed to leave.
---
Meanwhile, at the Military Outpost
Damian stood just outside the glow of a streetlamp, his hands tucked into his coat pockets as he scanned the village. He had been stationed here long enough to recognize familiar faces—the villagers who followed the same routines every day. The ones who spoke freely, laughed loudly, and carried no weight on their shoulders.
Then there were the others. The quiet ones. The careful ones.
Like her.
His gaze flickered to the café she often visited. He had seen her before, working, speaking with the locals. On the surface, there was nothing suspicious about her. But instinct told him otherwise.
There was something about the way she carried herself—calculated, like someone always aware of their surroundings.
And Damian had learned to trust his instincts.
"Graves."
He turned his head slightly as Sergeant Lennox approached. The man's expression was unreadable, his sharp eyes studying Damian.
"You've been watching the village a lot lately."
Damian didn't look away. "Something feels off."
Lennox raised an eyebrow. "You think there's a threat?"
Damian hesitated. He didn't have proof. Not yet. Just a nagging feeling that wouldn't go away.
"Not sure," he admitted. "But I don't like coincidences."
Lennox let out a short breath, shaking his head. "Stick to orders. Don't go chasing ghosts."
Damian didn't respond, his gaze drifting back to the village. He wasn't chasing ghosts. He was following a trail—one that hadn't yet revealed itself.
But it would.
---
Back in the Village
Anya moved through the crowded stalls of the market, forcing herself to appear relaxed even as her mind remained sharp. The soldiers were too close. Their presence too suffocating.
She glanced at the small bundle in her hands—just a few supplies, nothing out of the ordinary. She had done nothing to draw attention to herself. But still, that feeling lingered.
Then, she saw him.
A soldier.
He wasn't looking at her. Not directly. But his presence sent a spike of unease through her chest.
Was it him? The one from earlier?
She kept walking, keeping her head down, her heart hammering against her ribs. It was just a passing glance. Just another soldier.
But she couldn't take the risk.
She turned sharply down a narrow alley, moving quickly but not rushing. Snow crunched beneath her boots, muffling her steps as she weaved through the backstreets.
Only when she reached the far end of the alley did she dare to stop. She pressed her back against the cold brick wall, exhaling slowly.
She wasn't being followed. Not yet.
But the game had begun. And she needed to stay ahead.