Episode 66

The silence that descended upon the Petrova apartment was a heavy, suffocating blanket. Anya was home, her fragile form nestled on the velvet chaise lounge, her eyes, once bright with the fire of performance, now held a distant, haunted look. The ordeal had etched itself onto her, a phantom limb of fear she couldn't shake. Dmitri sat beside her, his hand a comforting weight on her arm, while Nickola paced the length of the room, his usual boisterous energy subdued, replaced by a quiet, simmering anger.

"She's safe," Dmitri murmured, his voice thick with relief, yet tinged with the lingering unease of the unknown. "That's all that matters now."

Anya stirred, her breath a shallow sigh. "Safe… but not free," she whispered, her gaze fixed on the ornate gilded mirror across the room, as if seeing not her own reflection, but the shadows that had clung to her. "He… he knew so much. He saw everything."