Six years had passed since Ivan left Velinsk. Six years of cold training in the palace. Six years of learning to kill without feeling. Now he was fifteen, taller, stronger, and emptier than the boy who had once cried in a carriage.
The northern wind bit through his coat as he rode back to the borderlands. Snow fell around him like white ash. His silver mask caught the light, cold and smooth against his face. It had become part of him now. Sometimes he forgot what he looked like underneath.
The Czar's orders were simple. "There's a traitor at Velinsk. Find them. Kill them. No questions."
His horse stopped in front of the military base. It looked exactly the same. Gray stone buildings. Soldiers moving quickly through the snow. The same emptiness he remembered.
"You're back."
Ivan turned. General Nikolai stood there, older now, his beard more gray than black.
"The Czar sent me," Ivan said, getting off his horse.
