24. Split

Anya

The air in the office is thick with tension. I can feel it clinging to my skin, like a layer of dust that won’t wash off. Bastien’s voice cuts through the charged atmosphere as he barks orders into his phone, speaking rapidly in Greek.

Every so often, I glance up from my desk, catching him in various states of emotion—mostly frustration and tense focus. And the entire room is charged with an energy so palpable that I could reach out and touch it. It has me on edge, wound tight, and I don’t even know why.

But one word punches me in the gut like a fist, making my heart leap into my throat: “Popov.” He says it while speaking in Greek, probably assuming I wouldn’t understand. But that’s where he’s wrong.

Because Popov isn’t just any name; it’s my name. My father’s name.

The way he’s calling people and ordering them makes it seem like something huge is happening. Does my father know I’m here? Is he attacking? Then there’s the fact that Bastien mentioned not to go outside at all.

So