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