CHAPTER 49: IT NEVER HURTS

The lights flickered when he opened the door.

Alexei paused in the entrance of his apartment, letting his eyes adjust to the dim warmth of battery-powered lanterns and candlelight. The air inside smelled faintly of wax and cinnamon—something he’d once stolen from a church altar for nostalgia’s sake.

City H’s power was mostly back, but Alexei hadn’t flipped the main breaker.

He liked the quiet better.

Liked knowing his preparations weren’t dependent on anyone else’s grid.

He locked the door behind him, set the deadbolt, then walked into the kitchen and tugged open the bottom drawer of the cabinet. Beneath a fake panel, he pulled out a sealed plastic container and carried it into the living room.

One by one, he opened them.

Pouches of dried beef, protein bars sorted by flavor and expiration. Bottled water. Vacuum-sealed bandages. Strike-anywhere matches. Alcohol wipes. Ration packs labeled in three different languages—none of them English.

He’d started this stash months ago.

Back when Lachlan had first told everyone at the safe house that something wasn’t right. He hadn’t said much. Just made a comment over cheap vodka and stale peanuts:

"Someone I trust says we’re not ready. Says next winter’s going to hurt."

And that had been enough.

Alexei hadn’t laughed. Not then. Not when it mattered.

Because he remembered what it was like to starve.

To watch the snow drift inside the windows while your ribs showed beneath your shirt. To wake up and realize your brother hadn’t moved. That your mother was still sitting at the table, her eyes wide and glassy, because she’d given the last slice of bread to someone else.

He remembered the old country before they called it something new and hopeful. Before they sent him to Country N as a double agent.

He remembered his grandmother, bent over and veined like dried bark, always saying the same thing in her thick accent:

"Trusting the government is a good way of getting killed. They never want what is best for everyone. Only the few... only the foolish."

She’d said that the night before they came for him.

The knock on the door had been soft. Polite. They always made it polite at first. Government uniforms. Gloves. Gentle hands that weren’t gentle at all.

His father was taken and executed in front of the masses, an example of what would happen if you tried to rations. If you tried to grow your own food.

Or rather, in his father’s case, for giving his pregnant wife an extra spoonful of borscht.

The intent never mattered. The rules were the rules. And rules were what fed the machine. There was even a speech back then by the ruler... ’If you execute a hundred people and two were guilty, then that is a good ratio. It is better to kill the innocent than let those who went against the government live.

And it was a lesson that had been pounded into Alexei’s head from an early age.

When he was five, he was thrown into a state-run orphanage, that was designed to train the best of the best. He had 50 kids in his ’class’ at the beginning. By the end of the first year, that number was decreased to 20. By the end of the second year, that number was to be decreased to only a single survivor.

For his year, that was Alexei. Before he was six, he had killed more than ten kids, more than three times the average. It was there that he learned that you didn’t survive by being strong. You survived by being silent. By smiling. By doing what was expected, while always doing something else underneath.

So when Lachlan had brought it up again—during one of their after-action debriefs, voice low and unreadable—Alexei hadn’t argued. Hadn’t questioned. He’d just nodded once, leaned back, and filed the words away like a commandment.

And now here he was.

Living alone in a mid-rise block with blackout curtains, a stocked pantry behind the fake drywall, and four escape plans mapped out in his head.

The government could say what it liked.

The scientists could talk about solar flares and weather cycles and herd immunity.

But his grandmother’s voice was louder than any of them.

"The cold comes to balance the heat. Nature remembers what people forget."

He ran his fingers over the stockpile like a priest blessing relics.

Then, just as he reached to zip the box closed, his phone vibrated.

Not his regular phone.

Not the encrypted government one either.

A third phone. Small, black, old—one that hadn’t touched a network in months. He slid it from under a floorboard near the closet, pressed the button, and brought it to his ear.

"Da?" he grunted, voice gravel rough.

A beat of silence.

Then a voice, smooth and clipped, in their native tongue. "It’s been a while, Snowflake."

Alexei rolled his eyes. "Don’t call me that."

"You missed your last report."

"I’ve been busy."

"I know," the handler said. "That’s why I’m calling. We need an update on the vaccine."

Alexei walked back into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Took out a bottle of water and uncapped it with one hand. "It’s official now. Mandatory."

"We already knew that. What we want is your personal assessment. Side effects? Suspicions? Is your team compliant?"

He took a slow drink.

"No one’s saying no. Not out loud."

"But?"

"But someone’s been whispering different things," Alexei said calmly. "They won’t name the source. But it’s got them twitchy. Enough to start stocking food. Water. Emergency radios."

There was a pause on the line.

Then, "Not Elias?"

Alexei chuckled. "You know that one. He would die explaining the science behind his own bleeding artery. No. This is someone quieter. Someone outside the loop."

The voice on the other end hummed. "Do you believe them?"

Alexei looked around at his apartment—every hidden cache, every pre-packed duffel, every list scratched in his native script and tucked into drawer linings.

"I don’t," he said simply, a slight smirk on his face. "Only an idiot would."

"Good," the handler said. "Country S has eyes on the labs. We’re almost certain this vaccine is a derivative project from Hydra."

Alexei stiffened.

"You’re sure?"

"We’re 80% sure."

"Make it 100% before I do anything."

"That’s why we’re asking you to keep watch. We want you to take the vaccine. That way, you can report firsthand to our scientists about the side effects and the benefits. Not to mention the added benefit of being able to accuse Country N for purposefully hurting our soldier should something happen to you."

"They’re monitoring closely now."

"You’re resourceful. Figure it out."

The call clicked dead.

Alexei lowered the phone, staring into the dark of the apartment.

Hydra.

He hadn’t heard that name in years. Not since the red files were scrubbed and the black-site rumors buried.

But if it was true...

If the vaccine wasn’t a vaccine at all...

Then the time for laughing and playing along was over.

He dropped the burner into the sink and smashed it with the palm of his hand. Once. Twice. Three times. The screen cracked like bone. The battery split.

No trace left.

He moved with calm precision, repacking his boxes. Checking inventory. Tucking a blade into the hem of his hoodie. He opened the window and let the night air in—cold, quiet, grounding.

He hadn’t decided yet what he’d do.

But he knew this: he would survive.

Just like his father hadn’t.

Just like his grandmother taught him.

And if the whispers were true—if someone in Lachlan’s life had seen the cliff before the rest of them—then he’d keep listening. Watching.

Because it never hurt to prepare.

Never hurt to be ready.

Even if she’s wrong...

Alexei set the last latch on the final supply box and stood.

"...it never hurts."