Alexei sat back in one of the bright red Adirondack chairs, the paint peeling in thin curls against his palms. The fire in front of him had burned low, nothing left but a bed of glowing embers and the occasional snap as the logs shifted. The smoke drifted upward in slow ribbons, carrying the faint, sweet tang of pine.
Everyone else had gone to bed. Noah was back at the rec center, probably talking too much, and for once the clearing was silent. Alexei let it be. He’d been putting this mont off for eight days—eight days past the ti he was supposed to check in.
Most employers might overlook a missed report during a zombie apocalypse. Then again, Country S wasn’t like most employers.
He shifted forward, placing his elbows on his knees, and drew in a long breath. The cold air bit deep into his lungs, clean and sharp, a kind of burn that he welcod. With his eyes half-closed, he exhaled slowly, watching the mist of his breath fade before pulling his phone from his pocket. The number was muscle mory; he didn’t need to look at the screen as he pressed the call.
"The number you have called is not in service."
He frowned faintly and tried again. This ti, he tapped out the fourteen-digit code to route him to the operator.
"The number you have reached is not in service..."
He stared down at the glowing numbers for a mont before a smile began to pull at his mouth—not the pleasant kind, but the slow, cutting edge of one. It wasn’t possible for soone not to have picked up when he called. It was even more impossible for the lines to be dead. Even if his handler was unavailable, soone else would have answered. There was always soone.
But not tonight.
For the first ti since they’d stolen him from his grandmother’s farmhouse, Country S had no line to him. No voice in his ear. No leash around his neck.
He leaned back in the chair and let the thought settle. Freedom. Not the kind you dream about when you’re trapped—this was quieter, heavier. It didn’t feel like the absence of chains; it felt like space.
And under his skin, sothing shifted.
It wasn’t new, not entirely. For the past few days there had been a restless hum inside him. Heat seed to be curling along his spine, pressing against the insides of his ribs. Not a fever, not like Zubair. And it definitely wasn’t an illness.
Just... movent. As if sothing had been poured into him and was testing the shape of its container.
He turned his left hand over in the firelight. The veins stood out faintly, the skin seeming thinner, pulled tight against its fra. For a second, he swore he saw the faintest wash of blue under the surface—colder, sharper than blood should be.
It reminded him a bit of like how Lachlan looked, back at that store.
The corner of his mouth twitched upward.
He flexed his fingers, and the sensation pooled in his palm, a concentrated chill gathering until it almost ached. Without thinking, he lifted his hand and flicked his wrist.
The air around him hissed.
An icicle, long as his forearm, shot forward and buried itself deep into the trunk of a birch tree across the clearing. The sound was clean, sharp—glass breaking in the dark.
Alexei stared at it for a mont, then slowly looked back at his hand. The pale skin glowed faintly blue in the dying light, the color lingering this ti. He turned it, watching the cold shimr dance over the bones and veins beneath.
A low, amused sound slipped from his throat. "Well," he murmured, "this is new."
He leaned forward once again, his elbows braced on his knees, and tried it again. This ti, he shaped the thought more deliberately—imagined the icicle before it ford, pictured the weight of it in his hand. The cold gathered faster, sharper, almost greedy in how it pulled at him. He let it build until his fingers ached and then released.
The second icicle was longer, cleaner, its tip like a needle. It slamd into the tree beside the first and stuck fast.
Alexei sat back again, the faintest fog curling from his palm even after the release. The glow under his skin was dimming, but not gone. He pressed his thumb to the center of his palm and felt that hum again—alive, waiting, as if it knew he’d call on it again soon.
He wasn’t stupid. This kind of thing didn’t happen without a price. Lachlan had his claws and speed, Zubair had... whatever was under his skin, and now Alexei had this. It was more than mutation—it was potential.
And it was his.
His handler would have found a way to chain it. Test after test. Observation, control, paperwork stamped in triplicate. Country S would have bled him dry to figure out what he could do.
But there was no one to report to now.
He let that thought stretch in his mind like a cat in sunlight, long and indulgent. No more orders he had to follow. No more coded ssages. If they wanted him back, they’d have to drag him—and now, he had more than teeth to bite with.
His gaze drifted back to the two icicles jutting from the tree. He imagined what one would look like in a man’s chest, the shock on their face as the cold went through bone and muscle.
The smile that ca this ti was easier, almost lazy.
Alexei didn’t plan to tell the others. Not yet. There was an advantage in being underestimated, in letting people think his charm and knife work were the sharpest things about him.
Across the fire, the embers popped, sending a faint spray of sparks into the air. He reached out toward them, curious. The cold leapt to his fingertips without hesitation, and the sparks hissed out mid-flight. He felt the brief shiver of satisfaction from whatever was inside him.
He leaned back again, stretching his legs out toward the heat of the fire even as the night wrapped him in its cold. His hand still carried that faint blue sheen, the reminder that whatever had woken inside him wasn’t going back to sleep.
And he didn’t want it to.
Alexei tilted his head, listening. The camp was quiet. The only sound was the wind in the trees and the slow crackle of the fire. For now, that was enough. He’d figure out what else this new gift could do when the ti was right.
For now, he wanted to enjoy the silence.
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