The sun was barely beginning to rise, its pale golden light spilling over the spires and domes of St. Petersburg, when Yelena stepped out into the street. The city was still quiet, the usual cacophony of merchants and carriages muted in the early morning hour. She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, her breath visible in the crisp winter air.
She hadn't slept. The conversation with Andrei had left her restless, her mind tangled in conflicting emotions. Part of her was angry—angry that he had the audacity to follow her, to pry into a life he couldn't possibly understand. But another part of her, a part she barely acknowledged, was touched by his persistence. No one had ever cared enough to fight for her before. It was unsettling.
Shaking her head, Yelena forced herself to focus on the task at hand. She needed to find work for the day—something that would pay enough to cover food and the rent for their tiny room. Her younger sister, Katya, was still asleep when Yelena had left, curled up beneath the thin blankets that barely kept out the chill. Yelena's stomach twisted at the thought of Katya waking up to find nothing to eat. She had to make something work.
As she walked through the winding streets, she kept her head down, avoiding the few early risers she passed. She was used to the curious stares, the judgmental glances from women clutching their shawls tighter as she walked by. She didn't care what they thought. Survival didn't leave room for pride.
She turned a corner and nearly ran into an older man carrying a crate of bread. He muttered something under his breath and hurried past, but Yelena's eyes lingered on the bread for a moment too long. Her stomach growled, a sharp reminder of how little she'd eaten the day before.
"Yelena!"
The voice startled her, and she turned to see Mikhail, a butcher she sometimes worked for, waving at her from across the street. He was a burly man with a ruddy complexion and a thick beard that made him look more intimidating than he actually was. Despite his gruff exterior, Mikhail had always been kind to her.
She crossed the street quickly, her boots crunching against the frost-covered cobblestones. "Morning, Mikhail," she said, forcing a smile. "Do you have work for me today?"
Mikhail scratched his beard thoughtfully. "I could use some help cleaning the shop," he said. "It's not much, but it'll earn you a few coins. Enough for a loaf of bread and maybe a little extra."
"I'll take it," Yelena said without hesitation.
Mikhail nodded and motioned for her to follow him. The butcher shop was a small, dimly lit space that smelled of raw meat and sawdust. Yelena didn't mind the smell—it was a reminder of work, of purpose, and, most importantly, of food.
She spent the next few hours scrubbing counters, sweeping the floor, and cleaning knives until they gleamed. It was hard, monotonous work, but it kept her hands busy and her mind quiet. Mikhail worked alongside her, occasionally grunting his approval or offering her a piece of dried sausage to nibble on.
By the time she finished, her arms ached and her stomach had quieted. Mikhail handed her a small pouch of coins and a wrapped loaf of bread. "Here," he said. "For the hard work. And don't forget to eat something yourself, Yelena. You're too thin."
She smiled faintly, tucking the bread under her arm. "Thank you, Mikhail. You're too kind."
He waved her off with a grunt, already turning his attention to a new slab of meat that had been delivered. Yelena slipped out of the shop and back onto the street, clutching the coins tightly in her hand. It wasn't much, but it was enough for now.
As she made her way back to the room she shared with Katya, her mind wandered to Andrei. What was he doing now? Had he gone back to his palace, to his life of luxury and privilege? The thought made her stomach churn, though she couldn't quite pinpoint why.
By the time she reached their building, the sun was fully up, and the streets were alive with activity. She climbed the narrow staircase to their room, her boots echoing in the quiet corridor. When she opened the door, Katya was sitting on the bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
"You're back," Katya said with a yawn. Her voice was soft, still laced with the innocence of childhood. Despite everything, Yelena had managed to shield her from the worst of their life. It was a small victory, but one Yelena clung to fiercely.
"I brought bread," Yelena said, holding up the loaf. Katya's face lit up, and Yelena felt a small pang of relief.
They ate in silence, the bread warm and filling despite its simplicity. Yelena watched her sister carefully, noting the way her cheeks were still too pale, her frame too thin. She needed to do more, to find better work, but options were limited for someone like her.
After they finished eating, Katya began chattering about a book she had borrowed from one of the neighbors, her eyes bright with excitement. Yelena listened with half an ear, her thoughts drifting back to the night before.
Andrei's words echoed in her mind. She hated how much they had affected her, how they had lingered long after he had left.
For years, she had built her life around survival, around keeping people at arm's length. Letting someone in—especially someone like him—felt dangerous. But there was a part of her, a small, desperate part, that wanted to believe he was different. That he could be trusted.
But trust was a luxury she couldn't afford. Not now. Not ever.