The Escape That Shouldn’t Have Worked

Aleksandr looked at her. Calm. Empty. "Because the things we love must be useful. Or they die."

She placed the glass down.

He sat across from her. He did not blink. "Dmitry is alive. Sofia is alive. You failed."

"I told you I would handle it," she said quickly. "I was working on it."

"You were playing," Aleksandr said. "You were jealous. You were sloppy. You let feelings become actions. That is a woman's greatest weakness."

"I am not weak."

"You are crying."

"I'm not crying."

He tilted his head. "Then why is your face wet?"

She wiped her cheek fast.

He smiled faintly. "You loved him."

She shook her head.

"You did," he said. "You thought if he chose you, he would change."

"I thought he was loyal."

Aleksandr leaned forward. "Loyalty is for dogs. Obedience is for family."

Ksenia stood. Her breath short. "I can still fix this."

"No."

"I can."

"No."

"I'll kill Sofia myself. I swear. Give me three days."

Aleksandr looked at her. "You had three months."

She stepped closer. "Please."

Aleksandr stood too.

They were face to face.

She was shaking.

His voice lowered. "You know, I once told your mother I would raise you like a queen."

Ksenia blinked.

"She was crying," he said. "Begging me not to take you. But I told her you would live better here."

She looked up at him. Her lips parted.

"She was wrong," Aleksandr whispered. "And I was right. You lived better. But you will not live longer."

Her mouth opened. "Wait."

"I gave you a crown," he said. "And you threw it into the snow."

"Aleksandr—"

He pulled the knife from his belt.

Fast.

The blade was clean.

She stepped back.

He followed.

"No," she said.

He did not stop.

"Please."

He raised the knife.

She screamed, "I loved you!"

He stabbed her once.

Below the ribs.

She fell to her knees.

She gasped. Her hands clutched the wound. Blood spilled fast. Her legs trembled.

Aleksandr stood over her. Calm. Silent.

She looked up.

"I did everything you asked," she whispered. "I wanted you to be proud."

He leaned closer. "You disappointed me."

Her eyes filled.

Then she laughed once. Just a short sound. Broken. Like glass.

He raised the knife again.

She looked him in the eye.

"Tell Dmitry," she said, "that I never stopped hoping."

He stabbed her again.

The room went still.

She fell forward.

Her face hit the floor.

Her hair spread around her like threads of gold soaked in blood.

He stood over her for a long time.

Then he turned to one of the men standing near the door.

"Clean it."

No one moved.

Aleksandr walked away.

Outside, the snow began to fall again.

Soft.

But inside the estate, nothing felt clean.

Not anymore.

Not ever.

The first thing anyone noticed was the vending machine.

It had been broken for two years. Everyone knew it. The buttons stuck. The screen flickered. The chocolate bars inside had expired. No one used it except that one bored night officer who once got a KitKat and food poisoning in the same hour.

So when it suddenly came alive at 2:46 AM, humming gently and lighting up like a gift from heaven, Officer Malinov stared at it for a long time.

Then he did something no one expected.

He pressed a button.

The machine spat out twelve items at once.

Every single one hit the tray with force.

"Okay," Malinov whispered. "That's not normal."

Then came the second surprise.

The ceiling light above the holding cells flickered. Then every light in the hallway went black for three seconds. When they came back on, the TV in the breakroom switched from silent weather reports to full volume opera music in German.

And at that exact moment, a fax machine somewhere upstairs printed twenty-seven pages of nothing but the word "SORRY."

Then Leo's voice came through the hallway speaker.

Not through the intercom.

Through the hallway speaker.

"Good evening, Moscow's finest. I hope you are all comfortable. This is not an attack. This is art. Please do not be alarmed. Well, maybe a little."

Panic did not start immediately.

People looked around. One officer laughed. Another unplugged the fax machine. Someone tried the door. It was locked.

Then the fire alarms started. Loud. Sharp. Unstoppable.

Smoke machines hidden in the air vents sprayed a cold mist that smelled like cinnamon and glue.

That was when panic started.

Dmitry was already standing by the bars of his holding cell when the first officer ran past, eyes wide, yelling something about the server room exploding.

Then a small drone flew by. It hovered briefly in front of Dmitry, clicked twice, then zipped away.

He stared at it.

Leo's voice came again.

"Dmitry, if you are still in that cell, I swear on every line of code I ever wrote, I will haunt you with love poems until your brain melts. Move when I tell you."

Dmitry looked up at the ceiling.

"I hate you," he said calmly.

The door to his cell buzzed. Unlocked.

He pushed it open and stepped out into the corridor.

Smoke filled the air. But not thick enough to choke. Just enough to make vision harder. He walked past two lockers. Then the wall beside him exploded with sparks.

Leo's voice returned.

"Correction. Do not go left. Someone is shooting."

Gunfire began behind him. Automatic. Loud.

A bullet clipped the wall beside Dmitry's ear.

He ran.

Two officers tried to stop him near the stairwell. One slipped on marbles Leo had poured out of a pipe system that no one knew existed. The second tripped over the first and hit the floor hard.

Dmitry kept moving.

Leo's voice stayed calm.

"Your exit is at the west gate. I left a surprise there. Keep your hands visible. Do not look angry. Do not punch anyone unless they are bigger than you. Or unless they are insulting your shoes. In which case, make it personal."

Dmitry reached the gate.

The keypad was glowing.

He typed nothing.

The lock clicked open.

He stepped outside.

And then came the loudest sound yet.

A boom. Real. From inside the compound. Screaming followed.