Chapter 6: The calm before the storm

*Aria's POV*

Snow started to cover the village's grounds. It laid thick on every surface, softening the world into silence.

Roofs sagged under white weight, chimneys breathed thin threads of smoke into the pale sky, and narrow paths were carved by boots that knew exactly where to step. The houses were old-stone and dark timber, built close together as if for warmth, their windows glowing amber at dusk like watchful eyes.

By day the village felt harmless — children laughed, sleds cut crooked lines down small hills, and the air smelled of firewood and bread.

Mr. Rino was here from the early morning, baking bread. Adrian was already up, and helping him, his face full of flour. He was the cutest child. Warmth filled my chest at the sight, as it's exactly what I imagined when I left.

My son in a safe environment. Not filled with guns and killing.

No danger.

Just a simple life with his joyful laughs.

"Elena." Mr. Rino said, calling me by my fake name.

"Good morning." I said.

"Mommy." Adrian screamed and jumped on his feet.

I kissed him on his cheek and went to help Mr. Rino with the baking.

Ever since that day, when the strangers came here, they disappeared. There were no more signs of them, but I still couldn't feel at ease.

I knew these men. They screamed danger. And danger never came to this village. I fear that they might have recognized me.

I don't know if Lucian was searching for me or not, because if he was, then those men were sent by him.

And they also saw Adrian.

Which would mean that I was in trouble.

But it has been a while since they came and they didn't return.

Every morning I woke up with tension in my chest.

"Elena can you brush the snow from the steps before you start?" Mr. Rino asked gently.

"Of course." I replied.

I went out and started brushing the snow from the bakery steps, my breath fogging the air as Adrian stomped beside me in his oversized boots, and I was sure he took them from Mr. Rino. He was humming a tune he'd learned from the old radio upstairs.

"Mommy." He said suddenly, craning his head up at me. "Why don't people visit us much in winter?"

"Because the roads are dangerous." Which is exactly the reason I chose this village to stay at. "And people prefer warm places."

He frowned, considering this. "But it's warm here."

I paused, broom frozen mid-sweep.

"It is?" I asked softly.

He nodded, very serious. "Because we're here." My throat tightened and I gulped.

"Yes." I managed. "Because we are here." I repeated trying to convince myself also.

He smiled, satisfied, and went back to kick the snow into messy piles that immediately erased his footprints.

I should have felt kind of happy, or a little bit relieved. But all I could feel was heaviness on my chest. It felt like someone was trying to choke me. Even far away from home, I still felt scared and agitated.

I watched Adrian's footprints disappear as he screamed and jumped, and smiled a little.

At least one of us is happy.

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Life had turned to its rhythm on the surface.

Mr. Rino complained about deliveries.

The innkeeper drank too much grappa.

The postman cursed at the snow and his bad knees.

No one mentioned the strangers anymore.

But I noticed things.

I always did. I had to.

A new set of tire tracks near the square one morning — gone by evening.

A man at the inn who stayed two nights instead of one.

Nothing concrete.

Nothing provable.

Just the quiet sense that the village had inhaled and was holding its breath.

I pulled my scarf tighter and ushered Adrian inside as the bells rang noon. The bakery was warm, rich with smell of bread and sugar. Safety wrapped in yeast and heat.

But even here, my shoulders refused to relax.

I caught my reflection in the glass display — older than four years ago, sharper somehow. My face had learned restraint. My eyes carried a weight that didn't belong in a place like this.

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That night, the storm worsened.

Snow fell thick and relentless, tapping against the attic windows like whispered warnings. Adrian slept curled beside me, his small back pressed into my chest, his favorite sleep position.

I stared at the ceiling, thinking.

Four years.

Four years since the night I left.

Sometimes, in the dark, I wondered if Lucian still existed the way I remembered him — or if grief had reshaped him into something unrecognizable.

Did he rage?

Did he mourn?

Did he move on?

The thought of him moving on hurt more than it should have.

I pressed my palm over Adrian's back.

He doesn't know, I reminded myself.

He can't.

If he did...

If Lucian Drakov ever learned he had a child—

The world would not survive his reaction.

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The next morning, the village woke under a sky so white it hurt to look at.

Snowdrifts reached halfway up the doors. Roads disappeared entirely. The village was cut off — no cars in or out.

Relief and dread tangled inside me.

Isolation meant safety.

Isolation also meant no escape.

I bundled Adrian in layers and let him play in the square while I spoke with Marta, Mr. Rino's wife. My eyes never stopped scanning.

"Winter's cruel this year." Marta sighed. "Feels heavier than usual."

I forced a smile. "Everything does, lately.

She studied me for a moment, then leaned closer. "You should be careful."

My pulse skipped. "About what?"

She lowered her voice. "People have been asking questions. Not recently — but enough.

Cold spread through me, deeper than the snow.

"What kind of people?"

She hesitated. "Men with city accents. They were polite. Too polite to be precise."

My fingers went numb, and my blood went cold.

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