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

The snow crunched beneath Damian's boots as he trudged back toward his cabin, the evening wind howling low like a warning whisper. The scarf clenched tightly in his gloved hand felt heavier than it should have—more than just fabric, it was evidence. Another thread connecting the tangled web he was slowly beginning to unravel.

He shut the cabin door behind him and dropped the scarf onto his desk, where the pendant already lay. Two silent witnesses, whispering a name he wasn't ready to say out loud.

Damian leaned against the edge of the desk, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the two objects. The girl in the village—the one who flirted with him, brought him coffee, smiled like she had nothing to hide—was that all a cover? Had she been playing him this whole time?

If she was Blackwood, then she was a ghost. A legend in the world of espionage. Feared. Brilliant. Elusive. The type of spy that didn't just act on orders—she chose her missions.

His jaw tightened as he looked toward the maps sprawled across his wall. He traced his fingers along the routes the officer had taken in the past few months, scanning for anything—anything—that would explain why a ghost like Anya Blackwood would infiltrate this place, this war, this mission.

Damian froze. He shoved the pendant and scarf into a drawer, locking it. Then, a deep breath. He masked the turmoil behind a calm expression and opened the door.

Just a soldier passing a report. Nothing more.

But as he turned back to the desk, something itched at the back of his mind. This wasn't just about suspicion anymore. It was personal. She had saved his life during that ambush—he was sure of it now. Those shots, those movements in the shadows… They weren't random.

Anya Petrova—no, Anya Blackwood—was involved.

Damian sat back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. He couldn't tell the others. Not yet. If he was wrong, he'd ruin her. If he was right, and she had a reason—he needed to understand it before he made a move.

And if she was the spy he thought she was…

Then maybe it was time he started playing the spy too.

Threads of Deception