The second line emerges slowly—faint at first, then darker. Undeniable.
Pregnant.
I sink onto the edge of the bathtub, the test clutched in my hands, and stare at those two lines until they blur. My chest is tight, my breath coming in short gasps that might be panic or might be something else entirely.
Pregnant. I'm pregnant.
There's a life growing inside me. Misha's child. Our child. Created in desperation and desire, taking root in the midst of chaos.
I press my hand to my stomach—flat still, unchanged—and try to feel something beyond the shock. Joy? Terror? Some combination of both?
All I feel is numb.
I think about my mother—the woman I never knew, who died giving birth to me. Is that my fate too? To bring a life into this world at the cost of my own?
I think about Misha—the man who's killed people, who runs an empire built on violence, who's currently preparing fora war that might claim his life. What kind of father would he be? What kind of life would this child have?
I think about Sergei—the monster who's coming for me, who would use this pregnancy as leverage, as a weapon, as a way to hurt Misha in the deepest way possible.
He can't know. No one can know. Not yet.
I stand on shaking legs and wrap the test in tissue, burying it at the bottom of the bathroom trash. Then I splash cold water on my face and stare at my reflection in the mirror.
The woman looking back at me is pale, hollow-eyed, terrified. But beneath the terror, there's something else. Something fierce and primal that I've never felt before.
I'm not just protecting myself anymore. I'm protecting someone who can't protect themselves. Someone who didn't ask to exist, who has no say in the chaos they've been conceived into.
I press my hand to my stomach again.
"I don't know what I'm doing," I whisper to the life I can't yet feel. "I don't know if I can keep you safe. But I'm going to try."
The rest of the day passes in a blur of waiting and dread.
I force myself to eat the toast Mrs. Novak brought, even though it tastes like cardboard. I drink the tea, stay in bed, try to rest the way Misha ordered. But my mind won't quiet. It circles endlessly between the pregnancy and the war, between the life growing inside me and the death waiting outside these walls.
A knock at the door startles me from my thoughts. Before I can respond, Anna sweeps in, carrying a second tray with sandwiches and a pot of fresh tea.
"Mrs. Novak said you weren't feeling well," she announces, setting the tray on the bedside table with a decisive clatter. "I thought you could use some company. And food. Have you eaten anything today?"
"Some toast. Earlier."
"Toast." She says the word like it's an insult. "That's not food, that's a gesture toward food." She settles onto the edge of the bed, tucking her legs beneath her with easy familiarity. "Eat. Doctor's orders."
"You're not a doctor."
"No, but you are. Or will be. Which means you know I'm right."
Despite everything, I find myself smiling. Anna has that effect—a warmth that cuts through even the darkest mood. I pick up a sandwich and take a bite, more to appease her than from any real hunger.
"Better," she says approvingly. "Now. Tell me how you're really doing. And don't say 'fine'—I can see you're not fine."
I chew slowly, buying time. How am I doing? I'm pregnant with her brother's child, there's a war about to start, and I'm terrified I might not survive the night. But I can't tell her any of that.
"I'm scared," I admit finally. "About what's coming."
"That's sensible. Anyone who wasn't scared would be an idiot." Anna reaches over and squeezes my hand. "But you're not alone in this. You know that, right? Whatever happens tonight, you have people fighting for you. Misha, obviously. But also Dmitri, and the men, and—" she shrugs "—me, for whatever that's worth."
"It's worth a lot, actually."
