Sat in the corner of her cell, Natalya rested her head against the frosty wall behind her. It felt so heavy as it finally lolled onto her shoulder. Her chapped lips held back what little drool attempted to dribble from her mouth, her nose numb to the stench around her. The inevitable clang on the bars of her door came as a sharp male voice barked at her. She was exhausted.

Days she had been here, perhaps even weeks. Natalya had no idea how many. There was no window, so she tried to decipher her length of incarceration from how often she had been dragged away for interrogation. It was no use. She was allowed no sleep and only managed to sneak an hour or two every so often when the guards were too busy to watch her. Twice she had been fed, and only given a little water. She was sure her cell reeked of urine and excrement as she had no choice but to use one corner of the tiny room she found herself trapped in.

Natalya didn't care; she just wanted rest.

The interrogations had garnered Potapov no new information. Each time, he would ask her what she knew of Sasha's dissident ways, and each time she remained stalwart that she knew nothing. Potapov still didn't believe her. Each attempt to goad her into a confession appeared to leave him ever more enraged and desperate; it was the only thing driving her.

Their last session together had seemed particularly frustrating for Potapov. He had backhanded Natalya for one of her sardonic comments. He certainly knew how to strike a woman; a consummate professional, she supposed. Her cheek was split and swollen, the adorning scab a persistent itch. A real rebel would see it as a badge of honour, a medal for their efforts. Maybe she should try to see it like that, rather than something ugly that she'd rather forget.

The door to her cell opened, Natalya unable to quell a groan. She couldn't bear to look at Potapov's stupid, rat like face today. Fear had long since been replaced by fatigue, each new day draining her vigour.

'On your feet,' barked a guard she didn't recognise.

With a heavy, defeated sigh, she clambered up. It was so difficult and her whole body swayed.

'Follow me.'

Natalya stumbled forward. He didn't lead her towards the interrogation room. She was confused but decided not to question it. Instead, she concentrated so hard on holding herself up that she nearly didn't notice that the women's cells were all empty. Glancing at them, her feet dragged to a stop.

The dreaded cacophony had fallen silent, the emptiness it left behind infinitely more eery. It was so still, so final. Their fate was almost certainly not a pleasant one. Would this be her cell soon?

'Move!'

Trembling, Natalya carried on, concerned only with where she was being taken. There had to be hope of release.

There had to.

They soon arrived at a drab shower block, Natalya even more perplexed.

'Get washed. We have new clothes for you.'

Nodding, Natalya tugged everything off before she turned the shower on. Cold water slammed into her face and made her waver on her feet again. She steadied herself, then began to wash as best she could. Her eyes shifted to the young guard and he looked her up and down with interest.

'Idi v'banyu!' she spat, only just able to raise her voice enough to be heard over the water.

Despite glaring at her, he consented to turn away.

At least she would have a few moments peace. There was no soap, and her hair was a tangled mess, but it was certainly better than nothing.

Afterwards, she changed into the grey prison outfit she had been provided with and pulled her coat back on over the top to guard against the chill. Once dressed, she was led away again and steered down what appeared to be an administration block; she was so disoriented she could hardly tell. She heard someone knock on a door and realised that it was her guard.

Someone shifted behind the door, though it was not followed by a hurried flurry of movement, simply a small silence. It opened.

A young, pristinely uniformed man stood in their path, his gaze passing over Natalya for the briefest of moments. His nose was long and roman, his slicked back hair a dirty blonde colour. Everything about him was neat and precise.

'Good afternoon, Natalya Dmitryevna,' said the stranger. 'Come in.' He motioned towards his desk.

Mustering a small nod, she did as she was told. She did not sit, instead waiting for the stranger to join her.

'That will be all,' he said to the guard, politely shutting the door on him. He walked with calm strides to stand on the opposite side of his desk. 'I am Commander Lebedev.'

'Pleased to meet you,' she managed, her voice thick.

'Sit.' He gestured to the chair opposite his desk.

Natalya collapsed into it so that it nearly fell back. Lebedev poured her a glass of water and handed it to her. She guzzled it down gratefully, vaguely aware she was being studied even as he corrected the position of the jug to a better angle. There was silence as she set the glass down, the thud of it against the wood so loud in the still of the office.

Lebedev wasn't that much older than her, perhaps in his early thirties. He seemed far more pleasant than Potapov, though that wasn't difficult. 'So, you have been with us nearly two weeks now?' he said as he adjusted some papers in front of him.

Natalya's stomach churned. 'Has it really been that long?'

'I would have seen you yesterday, but I had a lot to clear up after my predecessor left.'

'Potapov?'

'Hmm.'

'Where is he?'

'Gone,' he said simply. 'I have taken over his position now.'

Natalya's heartbeat thrummed in her ears. 'Is that why there is no one left in the cells downstairs?'

'Correct. They had been here long enough.'

'Where are they?'

'Working off their debt in Vorkuta.'

Vorkuta. The infamous work camp was an omnipresent menace. It was mentioned in hushed whispers at every turn. Until today, it had never felt like a personal threat.

Giving no response, Natalya chose to fiddle with her fingers instead. Better that than give into her nausea. She noticed he straightened in his chair as she fidgeted, as though it displeased him.

'Now, I have had a look at the charge you were brought in with. Potapov seemed to believe that you were involved with your husband's activities-'

'That's a filthy lie!' interrupted Natalya. 'I never got involved!'

'But you knew about it.'

'Only that they had an ideas group... but I told Potapov this.'

'Yes, it says it here in the notes. He thinks you were lying.'

Natalya managed a small laugh, the shrill sound causing her head to pound. 'Yeah. That's why he gave me this.' She pointed to her cheek.

Lebedev leaned forward to inspect her. If he was perturbed, he didn't give it away. Potapov wore his rage like a second skin. This man was blank. 'When was the last time you had a good night's sleep?'

'Before I came here. Even then, probably wasn't that good.'

He surveyed her more closely, then glanced at his notes again. 'You have been asking after your grandmother.'

'Yes.' Tears threatened her eyes, but she blinked them away. Her own loneliness was difficult, but her grandmother's was unbearable. 'Has she been brought in?'

'No. Should she be?'

'Absolutely not! But I don't trust any of you.'

'That's understandable.' There was a small pause. 'You have also asked to see your husband several times. And he has been asking to see you too.'

'So?'

'My notes say that the two of you were estranged.'

'Love is complicated,' she sighed, her head resting on her hand as her elbow dug into the arm of her chair.

'If I were to let you see him, then perhaps we could speak more honestly afterwards?'

That caught her attention. Natalya focused again, her ears ringing through the silence. 'I'd rather see my grandmother.'

'Trust me, you don't want her here. She might not leave again.'

There was a pause. She shouldn't want to see Sasha. She hated him. But at this moment, she needed him so desperately. 'My answers won't change, Commander Lebedev.'

'Then perhaps that would be the affirmation I need.' He got to his feet and held out his hand. 'Come along.'

Eying it warily, Natalya took it all the same. She was led back towards her block, every footstep a reminder of the dirty hovel she was kept in. They came back to the long line of empty, open cages where only bars had housed the women who were long gone. To Natalya's surprise, Lebedev guided her into one.

The door clanged shut.

Lebedev ordered that Sasha be brought to him, unwilling to retrieve the prisoner himself. Clearly, he was intent on observing his latest test subject. He stood in front of the bars, his stance regimented with his arms placed neatly behind his back, perfectly at ease. 'Boris, your husband's friend.'

'What about him?'

'He doesn't like you very much. Refers to you only as suka.'

'Unsurprising.'

'He won't explain why. Would you enlighten me?'

Natalya shrugged. 'I just never cared about his cause.'

Lebedev strode closer, his voice now hushed against his echoing steps. 'How interesting.'

'What is?'

'That is the first lie you've told me.'

Natalya's breathing quickened. How on earth did he know? 'I didn't care about their cause, that wasn't a lie-'

'It wasn't the truth either.'

Before she could retort, footsteps announced Sasha's arrival. He had his head down, the guards maintaining a firm grip on him. Natalya strained to get a closer look, desperate for that first glimpse of her husband in two long weeks.

He wore the same, prison grey that she did, though his was not fresh. His hands and arms were grimy, extended from slumped, defeated shoulders. Stubble had become a scraggly beard, his hair heavy with grease as it clung to his neck.

Sasha was thrust into the cell beside her, only the iron bars keeping them apart. Natalya made to run to him, then paused. She didn't want either Lebedev or Sasha to know how desperate she was for human contact. She saw Sasha take a deep breath. Was he angry about being manhandled, or apprehensive to see her? Perhaps it was both.

'We'll give you two some time to talk,' said Lebedev, sending his guards away. He stood firm, simply perched by the wall.

'Are we not allowed any privacy?' snapped Natalya.

'Everything has its price, Natalya Dmitryevna.'

Sasha cursed under his breath, Natalya's focus drawn back to him.

'Sasha?'

Eventually, he turned to look at her. His eye was bruised and swollen, his lip split and bloody.

Unable to restrain herself this time, Natalya rushed to him. 'What happened?'

Sasha walked slowly to meet her, the bars now clutched tightly in his fists. 'I'm not giving them the answers they want.' His good eye scanned over her bruised cheek, and he let out another long breath. 'Doesn't seem like you are either.'

'I don't have anything to tell them. They just don't believe me.'

'They're not going to.' Both of them glanced towards Lebedev. He did nothing, that same, strange emptiness returned to his face. 'You've been branded a traitor, so there isn't anything you can do or say to convince them otherwise.'

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Had Sasha been right all this time? Had she really been so blind to the chaos around her? Was he the hero in all of this? When an image of Micha flashed through her mind, she recoiled from her husband. There were no heroes, only victims.

Sasha saw and reached through the bars to touch her face. 'I'm sorry that you've been caught up in all of this.'

'That's all you can say?' she snapped, but she couldn't conjure the ferocity. Her heart was too filled with sorrow.

He withdrew his hand, yet both of them remained at the bars. 'You look so young again.'

Bitterly, she stared up at him. 'So good at manipulating, aren't you?'

Huffing, Sasha sucked his teeth. 'It's just how I want to remember you. Neither of us will be released. We die here, or we'll be sent to a labour camp. Either way, I doubt we'll see each other again.'

An icy shiver coursed through her. This dispassion was so painfully familiar. 'You seem so sure.'

'That's because I am.'

'You're not afraid.'

'Why would I be?' he said quietly. 'I left my heart in Stalingrad.'

Natalya sucked in a sharp breath. There was another silence. She hoped Lebedev would end this; drag them both back to their own cells. He only remained a bystander.

'Well, it never came back to me,' she mumbled. Her sorrow ached in her throat. 'If I even had it at all.'

'You know you did,' he assured her.

'I doubt that.'

Pacing towards the outer bars, Sasha set his fury on Lebedev. 'What have you asked her to do?'

'Sasha-' warned Natalya.

'If you want a puppet, you've picked a bad one!'

Lebedev was entirely unfazed. 'Who said she was my puppet?' There was no malice to his tone, almost as if it were a simple statement of fact.

Sasha spat on the ground at Lebedev's feet. 'Svolotsch'!'

'Stop it!' barked Natalya. 'You wanted to talk to me. So talk, or I'll go.'

Reluctantly, Sasha returned to his position opposite her. He soothed his brow, just as exhausted as she was, and more disheartened. That's how he had looked when he came back to her all those years ago.

The need to cry was overwhelming but she held it in as best she could. She truly had no concept of what they discussed in his band of dissidents, other than it clearly made him happy. The light in his eyes was fleeting, his spark barely there. But they'd done something that she could not; they'd begun to give him purpose again.

'Could I have saved you?' she blurted without restraint. 'Was there anything I could have done to bring you back to me?'

Sasha was caught off guard. 'I didn't think you cared.'

'I did back then. I cared about you more than anything else. It took years of your indifference for the bitterness to set in.'

'It wasn't indifference-'

'Fine. Is contempt a better word?'

'Liya-'

'Loathing? Hatred? Take your pick-'

'I just couldn't love you anymore!'

Natalya's face crumpled, as though he were telling her this for the first time all over again. Her limbs felt heavy, like she was being dragged down through murky waters.

'I cared about you,' he managed. 'I still do. But I haven't been in love with you since I left for the front.' They looked at one another as Natalya's bottom lip threatened to tremble. 'You knew that though, didn't you? You just didn't want to accept it.'

'That's not true.'

'Isn't it?'

'No,' she said resolutely. 'You're not the only one who'd spent all of those years dreaming about a reunion.'

He hung his head, rubbing his good eye with the heel of his hand. 'I've failed you.'

'Yes, you have.'

'I should have tried harder to be the husband you needed.'

'I got past that a long time ago, you mudak',' she spat. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the iron bars tightly and thrust her face as close to his as she could. 'It's Micha and Yelena that I can't forgive you for.'

His gaze hardened. 'Lebedev-'

'I don't care anymore! He was my closest friend. How could you do that to him?'

Sasha searched for the right words. 'He was my friend too-'

'It wasn't the same and you know it! I'd known him my entire life! After you stopped caring, he was all I had!'

'You only liked him because he reminded you of your father!'

Horrified, Natalya sucked in a sharp, cold breath. Sasha looked at his feet, clearly regretful that he took it that far.

'You make me sick,' she choked out. She pulled away, but he caught her hand through the bars and tugged her back.

'I tried to be a good man. I really did. I don't want you to think badly of me.' He seemed so sincere. He always did when her needed her forgiveness to stomach his reality.

The rage still boiled in her throat. 'Then why did you leave me?'

'It was war-'

Her face twisted as the words tumbled from her mouth. 'Not then. Afterwards. Was I so contemptible that you couldn't even pretend?'

'I would never lie to you, Liya.'

'But you still married me. Why couldn't you have let me live out my life with someone else?'

'I told you that you could! When Micha asked-'

'Shut up!' she screeched.

His shoulders heaved heavily with hurt. He seemed to contemplate something, chewing the thought over and over until he spat it out. The look in his eyes had suddenly shifted. This wasn't the man that ignored her for years. This was the bright young man that went to war. 'Tell Lebedev about Micha.'

Natalya's heart jolted. 'Sasha-'

'Tell him everything. I will too. Then maybe, this will finally all be at its end.' He turned to their captor. 'We're done here.'

Lebedev beckoned his guards back.

'You're right not to forgive me,' Sasha whispered. 'This isn't what I wanted. This isn't right. Tell them, Liya. Tell them what we did.' His hand extended through the bars to push her back, the door to her cell now open.

'Sasha!' she called as Lebedev began to pull her.

Sasha too, was led away. 'We'll find our feet, Liya. I promise.'

***

Natalya was surprised that Lebedev didn't immediately wish to talk to her. Potapov would have, but she was certainly glad she no longer had to deal with his incessant ridiculous questions. Instead, Lebedev sent her back to her lonely cell with supper and allowed her to sleep.

When she finally awoke, Natalya was seemingly even more disoriented. She was sure that people periodically checked on her, though she never stayed conscious long enough to know if that was real, or a hallucination. When it was certain that she was awake, Lebedev asked for her to be brought to his office.

She took the time to peruse it properly. Neat and ordered, it was entirely functional with very few personal nick knacks. She took the seat he proffered, her gaze still wandering around the room as he poured each of them a glass of water and dismissed the guard.

'You seem to be taking quite an interest in my office.'

Bored of his belongings, Natalya focused on him. 'It's the nicest room I've been in since I arrived here. It's refreshing to be amongst some normality.'

'It was not without effort. Potapov was messy, and I wanted no trace of him left.'

'So, he really isn't coming back?'

'No. That's what happens when you take a misstep. There is no room for error anymore.'

'In Butyrka, or Russia?'

He said nothing. She supposed she had her answer now.

'So, Micha.'

Natalya shifted uncomfortably.

'Natalya, I really am trying to help you,' he said softly. 'I don't think that you had a hand in this group, truly I don't. But your husband clearly did, and you are tainted just by your proximity to him.'

'That's ridiculous.'

'That is the way of things.' Both of them stared at one another, the stalemate apparent. 'Surely, if I was trying to trap you, I wouldn't have let you stay asleep for the last eighteen hours.'

Her throat tightened. 'That's how long I was asleep?'

'Yes. I'm not Potapov. I'm not tricking you. I simply want the truth and treating you like a caged animal will not get that out of you.'

'Is that why Potapov was removed?'

'He could do whatever he wanted to obtain the truth. He was removed because his sister's husband was said to be traitorous to the state and he did nothing to aid in his capture.'

'The irony-'

'It's not lost on me,' mused Lebedev. They sat in another impasse. 'Natalya, this has to end eventually. I just want to give you the best possible ending that I can.'

'A likely story.'

His expression remained unmoved. 'This is your last chance.' The words cut through her with such precision. 'Take it, don't take it. In the end, it doesn't matter. You're just another lost soul and there are so many here, it's hard to keep track. But what you do now will heavily influence your sentence-'

Her mouth went dry. 'My sentence?'

'You really thought you were getting out of here, didn't you?'

She didn't respond.

'There is no way out for you now, Natalya Dmitryevna. Only a greater or lesser punishment.'

Natalya knew this... she had always known this. And yet she had continually lied to herself that they would let her go. 'Then, it doesn't really matter what I say.'

'It does if you want to keep your grandmother out of this.'

Her head swirled, vomit bubbling in her gut. 'What did you say?'

Lebedev looked at her levelly. 'If you don't give me answers, then I'll have her brought in.'

'But-'

'She's frail now, so I hear-'

'She doesn't know anything!'

'You of all people should know that won't save her.'

'Kozyol!'

'I tried to keep her out of it.'

Natalya sniffed. She shouldn't have been so stubborn, that's what he meant.

It was time.

'It's not a nice story,' she managed, her words hoarse and laboured.

With a slight nod, he leant back and picked up his notepad. 'Start from the beginning.'