"The Dragunovs buried the wrong woman."
The words settled into the room like a curse.
Softly spoken.
Quiet.
Yet powerful enough to make Maria's blood turn cold.
—
The fire crackled beside them, casting shadows across the old stone walls.
Outside, snow drifted endlessly beyond the towering windows, swallowing the world in white silence.
This place felt ancient.
Hidden.
Like something forgotten deliberately.
Maria remained seated on the velvet chair, though every instinct screamed at her to run.
The woman across from her watched calmly.
Too calmly.
Up close—
The resemblance was horrifying.
Not identical.
But close enough to fracture reality.
The same dark eyes.
The same cheekbones.
The same haunting stillness Maria remembered from her mother's childhood photographs.
Impossible.
"You look frightened," the woman murmured gently.
Maria forced herself to remain composed. Fear would blind her now, and blind people died quickly near the Dragunovs.
"Who are you?"
The woman smiled faintly.
Not cruelly.
Almost sadly.
"A question your husband should have asked years ago."
Maria's pulse tightened.
She noticed things now.
Small things.
Important things.
The woman's hands trembled slightly when she reached for her teacup.
Not from fear.
Weakness.
Medicine bottles rested discreetly near the fireplace.
Half-hidden beneath old books.
And around the woman's neck—
Maria froze.
A silver necklace.
Small.
Oval-shaped.
Worn with age.
Her mother owned the same necklace.
Maria remembered touching it as a child.
Remembered her mother hiding it beneath her dress whenever someone entered the room.
The woman noticed Maria staring.
Slowly, her fingers moved over the necklace.
Protective.
Instinctive.
"You recognize it."
Maria said nothing.
Because suddenly—
nothing about this felt simple anymore.
— DRAGUNOV ESTATE —
The palace had become a machine of controlled violence.
Guards stormed through corridors.
Weapons gleamed beneath crystal chandeliers.
Orders moved like bullets through encrypted channels.
Yet beneath all of it—
Mikhail remained terrifyingly calm.
That frightened everyone the most.
He stood inside the surveillance room in complete silence.
Watching footage replay endlessly across massive screens.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Maria is walking down the corridor barefoot.
Maria stopped briefly.
Maria opened the door willingly.
Then static.
The technician swallowed nervously.
"We checked all access points, sir."
A pause.
"No breach from outside."
Mikhail's gaze never left the screen.
"Meaning?"
The man's throat tightened.
"Someone inside the estate helped them."
Silence.
Heavy enough to suffocate.
No explosion followed.
No rage.
No shattered glass.
Mikhail leaned back slightly.
Thinking.
Calculating.
Which was far worse.
Because everyone inside that room understood one thing:
The Frost Predator had ceased to react emotionally.
Now he was hunting.
"Override access?" Mikhail asked quietly.
The head of security hesitated.
"Used thirty-two minutes before Maria disappeared."
Mikhail turned slowly.
"Whose authorization?"
The answer came shakily.
"The estate matron."
Nikolai's eyes narrowed instantly.
"The matron is missing," the guard added.
"Her quarters were emptied before lockdown."
Something cold moved beneath the room.
Not shocked.
Recognition.
This was planned long before tonight.
— THE SYMBOL —
Nikolai stood near one of the frozen security frames.
Watching carefully.
Then suddenly—
His expression changed.
"Zoom in."
The technician obeyed immediately.
Static distorted the screen violently.
But near the corridor wall—
partially hidden—
a symbol became visible for half a second.
A black crest.
Elegant.
Ancient.
A serpent wrapped around a broken crown.
Nikolai went completely still.
Mikhail noticed immediately.
"What is it?"
For a moment, Nikolai said nothing.
Which alone was enough to darken the room.
Then quietly—
too quietly—
He spoke.
"Poland."
Mikhail's gaze sharpened.
"I saw that crest once before."
Nikolai's voice lowered further.
"Summer of 2006."
Silence swallowed the room whole.
"I warned you," Nikolai said finally, staring at the screen like a man seeing ghosts.
"The dead never truly left this family."
And for the first time in years—
Mikhail looked unsettled.
— AURÉLIE —
Rain struck the windows of Aurélie's penthouse in violent streaks.
The city lights blurred beneath the storm.
Beautiful.
Restless.
She stood barefoot beside the piano, phone pressed against her ear.
Listening silently.
Then—
slowly—
Her expression changed.
"Maria disappeared?"
The voice on the other end confirmed it.
Aurélie lowered the phone carefully.
Her reflection stared back at her through the dark glass.
But this time—
She wasn't smiling.
Because she understood something dangerous immediately.
This was no longer seduction.
No longer jealousy.
No longer one of her elegant games with Mikhail.
Something older had entered the board.
Something even the Dragunovs feared.
And suddenly—
for the first time in years—
Aurélie felt genuinely unsafe.
— UNKNOWN LOCATION —
The woman led Maria through dim candlelit corridors.
Old portraits watched from the walls.
Most of the faces had been scratched out violently.
Maria noticed that too.
"Why bring me here?" she asked carefully.
The woman stopped walking.
For a moment—
Something painful crossed her expression.
"Because if I hadn't..."
A pause.
Something trembling beneath her voice now.
"They would have killed you before the truth surfaced."
Maria's heartbeat slowed.
Not with relief.
With dread.
They.
Not him.
Not Pakhan.
They.
"There are others?" Maria whispered.
The woman looked toward the storm outside.
Fear flickered across her face for the first time.
Real fear.
"You were never supposed to survive long enough to ask questions."
Then she opened an old wooden door.
Inside was a study covered in dust and shadows.
Stacks of documents.
Photographs.
Letters.
Secrets.
Maria stepped forward slowly.
And then—
She saw it.
An old photograph resting on the desk.
Yellowed with age.
Partially burned.
Young Mikhail stood beside Aleksandr Dragunov.
Cold-eyed even as a child.
But beside him—
stood another child.
Slightly smaller.
Face destroyed completely by fire.
Burned away deliberately.
Maria's breath caught.
"Who is that?"
The woman stared at the photograph silently.
Something broken moved behind her eyes.
Then softly—
like someone opening the gates of hell—
She whispered:
"That..."
A pause.
"...is where the lie began."
BLACKOUT.
—
Who do YOU think the burned child is? 👁️❄️