Kirill

Moscow Region. Winter night.
The burning in my side is fainter. But the pain is still there, like a reminder. Like a mark.
He is lying on a dilapidated dacha house. The walls are padded with Styrofoam. Crackling frost pokes through every crevice.
Inside there's a primus, a first aid kit, a gun. All that's left of his old life.
He doesn't remember Moscow.
There's no point.
Failure is just one move in a chess game. He knows he loses when he stops moving.
The stitch on his side is uneven. I did it myself, left-handed, in the woods.
He should have died
But he didn't
He hears the snow creaking outside the door
Three steps. A pause. Two more.
Not a wolf. Not a random traveller.
He reaches for his weapon. Silently, without a sound. No power - but the movement is precise, as always

• Kirill.
  A voice
  A woman's
  He freezes
  Slowly he looks up
  There she is on the doorstep
  The one he hasn't seen in seven years
  The one who had once fallen asleep on his chest
  The one whose breath he knew by heart
  The one to whom he had once said: "If you aim, shoot. No questions asked."
  Now there's a gun in her hand
  Eyes icy. But not empty
• Yuri ratted you out she says- Accused you of failure. Gave you away.
  He won't talk
• I have to kill you, Kirill.
  Only now he notices that her hand is trembling. Just a little. Only because he knows where to look
  He looks away
  He sits down. His back against the wall.
  The gun is next to him, but he doesn't raise it
• Then kill, he says calmly Just do it like a professional. Not like a woman.
  Silence.
  Only the wind flapping the old shutter
• What if I'm still a woman and a professional? She whispers
  He looks at her
• Then you'll have a very hard time living after that.
  She steps closer. Slowly. Doesn't aim.Just stares
  At his face. At the scars. His eyes
• Why didn't you kill me back in Riga?
• Because I couldn't.
  Pause. Long. Forever.
  She puts the gun down