Anya moved through the village's back alleys, her steps light, her breath misting in the cold evening air. The snow had softened underfoot, muffling her movements as she took a familiar route home. The market had been as crowded as ever, with people bundled in thick coats, haggling over rations. She had blended in, moving with practiced ease, yet the weight in her chest hadn't lifted.
The presence of soldiers had increased. Patrols lingered longer, their eyes scanning the villagers with quiet suspicion. Orders had likely come from above—tighten security, observe movements, report anything unusual. Anya had felt their gazes brush past her, but she hadn't faltered. She had learned long ago how to move without drawing attention.
Still, something nagged at her.
She didn't look over her shoulder—at least, not too obviously. That would be a mistake. Instead, she listened. The sounds of the village were fading now as she entered a quieter part of town. Snow crunched softly beneath her boots, the wind howling through the wooden shutters of abandoned homes.
Then—footsteps.
Faint, distant, but steady.
She didn't tense. Didn't react. If she was being followed, whoever it was wouldn't see a change in her stride. Instead, she veered toward a side path, one that would take her through the alleys in a winding route home. If someone was trailing her, they would have to reveal themselves by keeping pace.
The steps continued for a moment, then stopped.
Anya turned a corner and, out of habit, slipped into the shadows beside a stone wall. The street was empty. No movement. No sign of anyone.
She waited a beat longer, then continued forward. Perhaps she was being too cautious. Perhaps it had only been another villager heading home.
---
Meanwhile, across the village…
Damian stood near the edge of the market, watching as the last of the civilians packed up their stalls. The cold had driven most indoors, leaving the streets quieter than before. His shift had ended, yet he remained, hands resting on his belt, eyes trained on the alley where she had disappeared.
He had been trained to spot anomalies. People who acted too afraid, too cautious, or too confident. This village, tucked away in the snow-covered landscape, had been unremarkable for months. But now, something felt different.
And he had noticed her.
He hadn't followed her—not directly. That would be reckless. But his instincts told him that there was something unusual about the way she moved. Civilians walked with purpose or aimlessness, but they didn't move like shadows slipping between cracks. They didn't make it look effortless.
He had taken a slow route through the side streets, keeping enough distance to avoid drawing attention. But just when he thought he might learn something, she had vanished.
The alley she had taken was empty now, the light from a nearby window casting long, distorted shadows across the snow. Damian frowned. It was one thing to disappear into a building, but there was no open door, no sign of movement. Just silence.
A normal villager would have left a trace. Hesitation. A pause. A moment of uncertainty.
But she had simply disappeared.
Damian exhaled slowly, his breath curling in the cold air. He wasn't one to jump to conclusions, but he had seen enough in his years of service to trust his instincts. He didn't know who she was. Not yet.
But he would find out.