Episode 49

The silence in the opulent Petrova apartment was a heavy shroud, a stark contrast to the usual symphony of laughter and the clatter of teacups. Anya, though physically safe, was a fragile ghost in her own home, her eyes, once alight with the fire of performance, now held a haunted, distant gaze. Dmitri sat by her side, his hand clasped over hers, feeling the tremors that still wracked her slender frame. Nickola, ever the steady presence, poured them both another cup of chamomile tea, the steam rising like a gentle apology for the storm they had endured.

"You don't have to talk about it, Anya," Dmitri murmured, stroking her hair. "Not yet. We're just… glad you're back."

Anya’s lips, pale and chapped, curved into a weak smile. "But you need to know," she whispered, her voice raspy. "He… he knew. He knew what I found."