33. An Order

Anya

The silence of the penthouse feels heavier than usual, the echo of Bastien’s absence palpable in every corner. I wander aimlessly from room to room, my steps quieter without his presence. The vibrancy of our sanctuary has dimmed, and I’m left to navigate the shadowy hush on my own.

I try to fill my time with books, with music, anything to drown out the stillness, but it’s no use. The melodies fall flat, the words blend into a meaningless blur. Restlessness takes hold, urging me back to the switchboard, back to some semblance of normalcy.

As I settle into the familiar chair, the switchboard before me feels like a lifeline, a connection to the outside world, to life. I don the headset, the soft hum of the line a comforting sound. Calls trickle in, mundane inquiries and requests that I handle with practiced ease. It’s during one of these calls that it happens.

And then it happens.

The line crackles, and then a voice—deep and unmistakable—speaks in Russian. My blood runs cold, my bod