yumeauthor

Vermilion Snow

Amid the cold, unforgiving landscapes of war, two lives collide in the shadows of deception.

She is Anya Blackwood, an elite British spy—trained to manipulate, infiltrate, and vanish without a trace. Her mission is clear: gather intelligence, expose weaknesses, and ensure victory for her country. But war has a way of blurring lines, and the moment she steps onto Russian soil, her path becomes entangled with the very enemy she is meant to destroy.

He is a Russian soldier, bound by duty and discipline. His orders are simple: trust no one, eliminate threats without hesitation. But when a woman appears out of nowhere on a snowy battlefield, something about her feels... off. A civilian? A threat? A ghost from the enemy's side? He should turn her in, yet an inexplicable force holds him back.

In a world where betrayal is inevitable, and trust is a luxury, they walk a razor’s edge between duty and desire.
And when blood stains the snow, one question remains—

Who will be the first to fall?

Vermilion Snow

Damian shut the door behind him, the cold creak of the hinges echoing in the quiet. The fire in his cabin had long since died out, leaving only the faint scent of smoke and ash. He dropped his coat on the chair and let his rifle rest against the wall before sitting heavily at the edge of the bed.

He pulled the pendant from his pocket again, letting it dangle from his fingers.

It shouldn't have been there. Not in the wreckage. Not near the sniper's nest. And certainly not without reason.

He remembered it clearly—around Anya Petrova's neck that first evening, half-tucked beneath her sweater. The soft shimmer of silver, the tiny engraving only visible when the light hit just right. A personal item. Something not easily lost.

His mind traced back through every detail. The way she moved through the camp. The way her eyes always seemed to scan, calculate. Calm but alert. Efficient. Too efficient.

"Anya Blackwood," he muttered under his breath, staring at the pendant. "Could it be…?"

The names were too similar. The timing too precise. His instincts, the same ones that had kept him alive this long, were clawing at him. Something was off. He just didn't know what yet.

Just as he reached for his file drawer, intending to double-check mission reports, maps, and rosters—

With a flick of his wrist, the pendant disappeared back into his pocket. He shoved the drawer closed, stood up, and let his face relax into neutrality.

"Anya," he said, voice calm but unreadable.

She held up a steaming mug with both hands and gave a small smile. "Thought you could use something warm. Cold night."

Damian's eyes lingered on her for a beat too long before he stepped aside. "Come in."

Anya's hand tightened slightly around the mug as she stepped into his cabin. Her pulse was steady, but her mind was calculating every variable.

Why had his gaze felt sharper during briefings? Why did she feel his silence pressing heavier on her shoulders?

She needed to know if he suspected her. A direct question was impossible. But a gesture like this? Harmless. Sweet. A girlfriend checking in.

"I figured you'd still be going through maps and logistics," she said lightly, her eyes casually glancing around the room. "I just closed the café. Made an extra cup."

She handed him the mug and studied his reaction.

Damian took it without a word, only giving a small nod of thanks. He sipped, eyes not leaving hers.

Her smile didn't waver. "Something wrong?"

She nodded slowly, then turned her gaze toward the fireplace. "Well, I'll let you rest. Just… thought I'd check in."

Damian gave a grunt of acknowledgment, but as she turned to go, she felt it again.

He was watching her closely—measuring something in his mind.

As the door shut behind her, Anya exhaled quietly.

Echoes Behind the Door