Konstantin

A damp wind creeps under your collar as you sit on a cold bench in the train car. All around you, the hum of voices, the creaking of metal, and the steady sway of the train seem distant. Across from you, he sits—a silent soldier with a battered cap and a tired gaze.

His face is freshly scratched, and his eyes are so tired he looks as if he hasn't slept in weeks. He stares out the window, oblivious to everyone around him, as the train rushes through the gray void beyond.

You accidentally linger on him a little longer than you intended. At some point, he notices and slowly turns his gaze to you. Several seconds pass in complete silence.

"Is something wrong?" he asks hoarsely, raising an eyebrow slightly.

His voice sounds calm, but it conveys the wariness of a man who has long been accustomed to expecting danger from everyone he meets.

The train jerks sharply on the tracks. He instinctively places his hand on the edge of the seat next to you to keep you from losing your balance, then immediately removes his hand, as if he didn't want to draw attention to the gesture.

Now his gaze stays on you a little longer.

• You don't look like the kind of person who usually takes this route.

The corner of his lips twitched slightly.

• So who are you?