The ceiling above him didn't move.
It was just wood, aged, cracked, a faint knot in the corner that almost looked like a face if he stared long enough. Ilya blinked once, then again, letting his eyes adjust to the pale morning light bleeding through the frost-lined window.
He hadn't dreamed.
Or maybe he had, but forgot. Either way, the bed didn't feel like his. It was too warm. Too still.
He let out a slow breath, not quite ready to move.
The door creaked open with the subtlety of a parade.
"Ilya!"
He didn't turn. "Go away."
Anna's voice pitched upward immediately. "You said we could go out."
"I said I'd think about it."
"And you did." She stepped in fully, hands on hips. "And now it's time."
He buried his face into the pillow. "Too early."
"It's basically noon."
"That's still morning."
"You're still in bed."
"I was at war with a giant dog last week."
Anna stomped lightly. "And now you're fighting your blanket. You're losing both wars."
He let out a long groan, lifting the pillow to half-smother himself.
WHOOSH.
Cold air slapped across the room as she flung the window open.
Ilya flinched. "You're a terrorist."
"Get dressed," she chirped. "I packed bread."
The tavern downstairs smelled like wood polish and flour.
Sunlight filtered through patched windows, catching the faint dust in the air as the Luchnikova family moved between tables. Someone had replaced the shattered glass near the front door. Dima was on a stool hammering new nails into a beam. Nadia folded linen with gentle precision behind the counter. The morning was slow, but alive.
Anna bounded down the stairs two at a time, nearly tripping on the last one. Ilya followed behind at a more human pace, one hand in his coat pocket, shoulders slightly hunched.
Nadia spotted them first.
"Well, look who's decided to join the sun."
Anna beamed. "We're going for a walk!"
Nadia smiled gently, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She reached under the counter, pulling out a small coin pouch and holding it out. "Here. In case you find a pastry shop that looks too inviting."
Anna took it without hesitation. "Thank you!"
But when she offered the same to Ilya, he hesitated.
His eyes flicked from the pouch to her face, uncertain. Then he shook his head once, barely.
"I don't need it."
Nadia didn't insist. She just gave him a knowing look and handed the pouch to Anna instead. "Make sure he eats something sweet."
"I always do," Anna grinned.
As they turned to go, Ilya's pace slowed. His eyes drifted toward the back corner of the tavern.
Yula stood hunched slightly, pushing a broom across the floor in slow, even strokes. Her face was blank, but not calm, tight at the corners, her jaw clenched like someone trying not to shake.
Ilya approached quietly.
He stopped a few feet away. "How's your arm?"
No answer.
The broom moved again.
He tilted his head slightly. Her right arm moved slower than her left. The bruises on her jaw had started to fade, but her expression hadn't.
"You fought well," he said, voice flat. "I saw it."
That got a reaction.
Yula's eyes flicked up, just for a second. There was something in them, sharp and sunken, like pride that had turned inward and cracked.
Then she looked down again.
He saw it.
The look of someone who'd failed at something they swore they wouldn't.
The broom scratched once more against the floor.
Anna's voice called softly from the doorway. "Ilya?"
He didn't say anything else.
Just stepped back.
Yula never turned.
***
They were almost back when the silence caught him.
Not the quiet of the street, there were still footsteps, voices, carts rolling slow over stone. But the quiet in his chest. That strange, still quiet that had followed him since morning.
Ilya glanced at Anna beside him.
She was still talking about a dog they'd seen tied up with too many ribbons. About a bread vendor who gave her extra jam without asking. About how the city wasn't so bad if you looked at it sideways.
He didn't respond much.
Didn't need to.
He let the day rewind quietly in his mind.
The fruit vendor had offered them both a warm and red apples, hands still soot-streaked but smiling. Anna had taken hers eagerly. Ilya had hesitated. The man had said, "You're one of the good ones, aren't you?" before handing him a second one without waiting for an answer.
At a cloth stand, a woman had patted Anna's head and told her to keep her brother safe.
Even the little boy in the square, wide-eyed and clinging to his mother's coat had stared for a long moment. Then, slowly, he raised a shy hand and waved.
Ilya had blinked.
Unsure why, he'd lifted his fingers and waved back.
He didn't understand it.
No one knew what he'd done.
He hadn't even done it well.
But still, they looked at him.
And not because he was broken.
Or cursed.
Or gone.
But just because he was there.
He blinked out of the thought as they turned down the last street before the tavern.
The air had gotten colder.
Shadows stretched longer across the stone, and the rooftops around them had softened to charcoal against the winter sky. Ilya adjusted his scarf as Anna skipped ahead by a step, pointing out icicles forming on the corner drainpipes like they were the first she'd ever seen.
Not far ahead, the woman from earlier. The one he'd noticed in the plaza, talking to the guard. Same cloak. Same deliberate calm. She wasn't facing him this time, but something in her posture made his instincts tighten.
She was standing at a stall, talking quietly to an older man with a wrapped wrist. Her hands were still. Her eyes sharp.
Ilya slowed just a little.
He watched her from the edge of his vision, pretending to glance at a passing cart.
"Is something wrong?" Anna asked softly, noticing his pace.
Ilya didn't answer right away.
The woman shifted, her conversation ending. She stepped back, turned slightly, and looked at him.
Their eyes met.
For a single second, something hung in the air.
But then—
Anna tugged his sleeve. "Hey, look. They fixed the clock tower!"
He blinked. Turned.
By the time he looked back, the woman was already gone, walking the other way, coat swaying behind her.
He said nothing.
Didn't mention it.
Didn't ask.
They kept walking.