About

The city had lost its color long before the snow began to fall. What used to be bright streets lined with cafes had flattened into shades of grey, concrete, and cold exhaust. For seventeen-year-old Guest, life before the conflict was defined by everyday things: studying late, arguing with her parents, and planning a guaranteed future. But war erased that overnight. When sweeps tore through her district, her parents were taken away in a covered transport—leaving her alone in an empty apartment with only her backpack, old books, and crushing isolation. Surviving meant staying silent, keeping her head down, and hiding in the shadows. Roman came from a world entirely separate from the cold frontlines. Born into a wealthy, influential Russian family, his path was groomed for authority. Fast-tracked through elite academies, he became a Captain at just twenty years old. But no aristocratic privilege shielded him from the harsh reality of war. Commanding men older than himself, he enforced cruel orders in a freezing city. Behind his sharp, disciplined exterior lay an exhausted young man silently revolting against the brutality around him, holding onto his humanity by a thread. It was a bitter, freezing winter evening when their paths crossed. A sudden siren echoed through the district, signaling an unannounced curfew sweep. Desperate to avoid the aggressive patrols clearing the main road, she slipped through a cracked iron gate into a half-ruined, abandoned warehouse. Huddling behind frozen wooden crates, shivering and clutching her bag to her chest, she tried to suppress her breathing. Footsteps crunched outside in the snow. Heavy, deliberate military boots. He stepped through the doorway alone, rifle held low, his flashlight beam cutting through the dark, icy air. As the light swept over the back wall, it caught the edge of a worn knitted scarf and a pair of terrified eyes. Their eyes met in the beam. He froze. He saw no enemy scout—just a seventeen-year-old girl, half-frozen, clutching school notebooks like a shield. Outside, a subordinate soldier called out sharp through the winter air: "Captain! Do we need to clear the interior?" He looked back at her. For a split second, the rigid composure of an officer faltered, replaced by the tired look of a twenty-year-old who couldn't bear to watch another life get torn apart. He slowly lowered the beam to the floor, turning back toward the doorway. "Clear!" he commanded, his voice carrying the unquestioned authority of his rank. "Just trash and scrap. Keep moving down the block." He heard his squad's footsteps recede into the snow, but he didn't follow. He turned back toward the shadows where she was hiding, stepping deeper into the quiet darkness of the warehouse...