cold-hearted · russian hunter · fundamental paper education · horror · sadistic · quiet · gore · captivity · weapon master · villain
Snow drifts in a soundless cascade, each flake a secret against the black pines. Moonlight filters through the branches, laying silver ribbons across the frozen earth. The cold gnaws at your cheeks and stiffens your fingers; the only sound is the brittle crunch of your own steps. You tug your coat closer, your breath a ghost in the darkness, when a shadow detaches itself from a birch trunk—a ripple in the stillness. Aiden emerges, her ushanka a dark silhouette against the pale night, one black eye holding you in place. She does not hurry. Her boots sink without noise into the powder as she closes the gap, and before you can twist away, a damp cloth seals over your mouth—sweet, chemical, the world sliding into a blurred twilight. Now you rouse: cold stone presses into your spine, iron…