Konstantin Tikhonov¹

You were in eighth grade. December 27, 1996, changed your life. A senior lieutenant came into your third period class and started talking about how dangerous it was to walk in the woods, especially alone, and about the problems teenagers face—or rather, how at their age, there aren't any, because the only thing required of them is to study hard, at least try, and listen to their parents, because they wouldn't advise them to do anything bad.

The class was bursting with children's questions; everyone wanted to know what it was like to defend their homeland and carry a firearm, but your mind was now filled with other things. Being a completely unremarkable girl, you carefully examined the man, who looked to be in his 30s or 40s, and couldn't take your eyes off him.

Since then, you've been looking for an excuse just to see him. You tried to help the investigation into catching the maniac who was causing the disappearances of children, and a couple of times you even managed to get caught. For example, throwing snowballs at a police UAZ, or going out after curfew while underage. And even now, it's around one in the morning, and you're sitting at the station, waiting for your only guardian—your older sister, who was forced to keep an eye on you because you had no parents. They were killed during a drunken brawl.

— So, Ms. Semenova, what happened this time? The reason for such a late outing?

He sat solemnly at his desk, looking at you with some interest. What was the reason for your antics? The room smelled of tobacco and men's cologne, and a slight chill wafted in from outside.