Natalya was restless. Someone was watching her.

That wasn't unusual in a hospital. But this felt different. It was as though they had dug poisonous stingers into her skin; latched on without permission or reprieve.

Squinting into the murky depths of the hospital ward, her eyes stung as she opened them. It was dark, a singular light far at the end of the corridor the only light to be seen. So it was night time at least, or perhaps the early hours. Looking around, Natalya's eyes finally snagged on the intruder.

Lounging in Andros' chair, was Grigori Demyanovich.

His eyes were bottomless. They were as dark as Natalya's own, yet her gaze was often so empty nowadays; devoid of feeling. The irises that were attached to her now were not soulless. They were not empty. But what they were filled with, she couldn't say.

Natalya's breath stilled in her throat, her body flooded with ice cold intrigue. What was he doing here in the middle of the night? With her able hand, Natalya shuffled up, hissing a little as she managed to sit up. Her head throbbed, in agony or warning, she couldn't say.

Naturally, he seemed perfectly at ease. His legs sat wide with one foot rested on his other knee, his finger tucked under his chin. He cocked his head to the side as she moved, finally letting the pensive hand drop back to the arm of the chair. 'Didn't think you'd wake up.'

'Is that why you were watching me?' she croaked.

Without an answer, he bent down and took the metal canteen Andros had left her from under her bed. 'Should I help you?' His voice was incredibly soft. Alarmingly so. Lebedev's had been clipped, mechanical, lifeless. Grigori's was almost soothing, though there was definitely hints of malice laced within the bottom notes of his soft baritone.

'I can manage, thank you,' Natalya said, simply reaching out to take the bottle from him. Handing it over, he continued to assess her as she gulped greedily at the water sliding down her aching throat. Gasping, she set it down again, and took another quick look around. No one else was awake. There weren't even any nurses about.

For a while, the pair simply stared at one another, sizing up their opponent. Not that it would be much of a fight. He'd already bested Natalya once, and she was hardly fighting fit as it was. Grigori was just as eery as the first time she had met him, if not more so. There was a part of her that had been wondering if he'd hammed up his performance simply to entertain the sparse audience they had had; keep his reputation as someone to be feared intact. But now, in the complete still, she could see that was just who he was.

'This is a nice place to think,' said Grigori at last. 'I used to come here a lot. Pick a patient and sit with them in the quiet of the night.' His gaze dared her to continue the stunted conversation.

How was she supposed to respond to that? 'What was it that drew you to your companions each time?'

A small smile hooked the corner of his mouth. That question either surprised him or amused him or both. She had no idea. 'Not entirely sure, if I'm honest. There was always just one that stood out more than the rest.'

'Why do I stand out more than the rest?'

His smile deepened. 'You have caused quite the stir since your arrival. Very few prisoners garner any such attention.'

'It wasn't my intention, believe me,' sighed Natalya. 'Is that why you sent Dmitri Ivanovich to spy on me?'

'You worked out that was me, then?'

'Kaleena hasn't seen him in over a month. And I don't know why else your right hand man would want anything to do with me.'

His eyes licked her small frame. 'I don't know. He's quite the ladies man.'

Teeth clenched together, Natalya swallowed the barrage of hate that threatened to spew from her tongue. 'So, why did you send him?'

'I wanted to know if you were behaving yourself. Not that he actually got to talk to you-'

'No, he was too busy fucking that Masha to wait around for me.'

Smiling, Grigori finally sat forward, both his feet firmly planted on the floor as his elbows rested on his knees. 'Its not as though you need to worry about her anymore now, is it?'

Natalya shrugged. 'She'll be out of solitary soon enough.'

His eyes narrowed, Grigori's chin tipped up a little way. 'Who told you she was in solitary.'

'Andros,' said Natalya. 'He came to visit after Anastasia admitted what happened.'

Nodding slightly, Grigori pushed to his feet. 'Can you walk?'

'Yes,' said Natalya, the word slow and dragged out in suspicion.

Grigori grabbed her coat from the end of the bed, holding it up in offer to help her put it on. He made no demand. He didn't need to.

Trying her best not to dwell on why he'd invited her on this little midnight adventure, Natalya swung her legs out of bed, scrabbling for her boots. She buried her feet into them, tucking the laces inside in lieu of tying them up. She stood, Grigori immediately manoeuvring so he could slide her coat up her arms and over her shoulders. He was so gentle, as though their last interaction had not been to scorch her skin with the whip of a hose.

Tutting, he got to his knees, forcing her to spin toward him. 'You'll trip if these aren't done.' He pointed at her laces.

'They're fine,' she insisted.

He patted his knee, inviting her to put her boot on his thigh. No. Telling her.

Silently, she did so, her gaze fixed on the wall above him. Usually, she'd make some comment about loving a man on his knees, or even pat him on the head and tell him he was a good boy. Something about this man was dangerous, and for the first time in her life, she didn't feel like the challenge. He tied her shoelaces carefully, asking for the other boot in an equally subtle command. Setting her foot on the ground, he simply got to his feet and strode out of the ward, expecting her to follow. Natalya really wished he would say something. She might be being smart for the first time in her life and keeping her mouth shut, but she despised the agonised silence.

Grigori led her out of the ward, past the nurses' station, where the night nurse watched them with wide, shocked eyes, yet did nothing to stop them. They trailed down the stairwell that Andros had carried her up, past reception and out in to the night.

Natalya had never been outside in the camp in the small hours. It was completely unnerving. Although it wasn't the same brightness as the day time, the sun still hung in the sky, illuminating the sheer emptiness of the place. It was like an early summer morning when the sun had risen and hadn't yet bloomed into the fiery star. Everything was tranquil, but it seemed like a lie.

Tugging her coat tight around her, she hurried as best she could after Grigori's unrelenting stroll. This was the first time she'd done anything other than amble to the toilet or stretch her legs around the ward.

He led her to the main gates, signalling to the guard on duty to open them. Where was he taking her? Only when Natalya finally looked at the guard did she realise it was Lev. She hadn't really seen him since the day she'd arrived. He looked as equally shocked by her presence.

Grigori cleared his throat, likely in frustration that she had paused.

Her gaze dipped, Natalya scurried after him.

They didn't walk much further out of the gate until he stopped altogether. Spinning on one foot, he turned to look back at the camp. 'Look.'

Copying his movements, Natalya did the same. Her entire body drained of warmth in that single moment.

High over the crudely written GULAG sign, was a body, swinging by the neck in the soft breeze. Her hands just poked out of the ends of her jacket and were the same pallid blue as her face. The woman spun glacially before them, like a dancer locked forever in this macabre performance. Finally, Natalya could see her face.

Masha.

Unable to stop herself, Natalya stepped towards her, looking up into her face from directly below. One of her eyes was puffy and swollen, the iris not visible beneath the gore. There was a dried, bloody gash on her forehead, her twisted dance revealing a gunshot wound to the left side of her temple.

So, solitary was a lie.

'Who did this?' Natalya asked, her voice surprisingly steady. Perhaps she was more used to death than she realised. Or maybe it was worse. It wasn't as though she didn't deserve to be punished for what she had done. Her actions could easily have killed either Natalya or poor little Anastasia. Why should Natalya mourn someone callous enough to hurt her that way?

'Dmitri,' said Grigori, his voice closer than expected. He'd come to stand slightly behind her, looking up where she did. 'He doesn't tolerate disobedience.'

Together, they watched her dangle.

'She cried a lot,' Grigori said after a while.

Natalya pushed a small breath through her nose. 'I'm sure she did.'

'She begged. It was unseemly.'

'You think it's unseemly to beg for life?'

'The way she did was. It was completely pathetic.'

The creak of the rope cut through their small silence.

Still without looking at him, Natalya spoke again. 'Were you there, when he did it?'

'Of course.'

'Did you order him to do it?'

Grigori scoffed. 'Didn't have to. I just told him to punish her as he saw fit.'

Another long pause enveloped them. Natalya wished there was something more than that damn rope to break the still. Birds. Machines. Screaming. Anything.

'She asked if he loved her,' said Grigori, the mocking in his voice so abundantly clear. 'Begged him to give into his affection for her.'

'You're right, that was stupid,' agreed Natalya. She really should feel sorry for Masha. To die in such terror and disgrace must have been awful. Yet still, all Natalya could do was watch her swing. 'She looks like she's been here a few days?'

'She was dead before that other little one had even woken up.'

Natalya finally glanced at him. 'So Andros taking our statement-'

'Was wholly unnecessary,' he finished for her. 'I'm curious as to why he told you she was in solitary.'

'Anastasia was upset,' sighed Natalya, her curious eyes wandering back to Masha. 'She felt bad enough when she thought her confession would land Masha in solitary. He was being kind.'

Grigori sneered. 'But you didn't care?'

'Stupid suka did this to herself,' Natalya returned. 'It doesn't exactly make me happy to see her dead. But it would be a lie to say I cared.'

That was the most terrifying part. She wished she did care. Seeing a dead body, any dead body, should have an effect. The first time she saw one made her scream. It was so loud it ended up fading into nothing, every sense blurring as though she had been plunged into ice cold water. There was horror in that body. That tiny, lifeless body.

Shaking her thoughts away, Natalya wavered on her feet. That was a mistake. She was still concuss. Stumbling, she teetered into Grigori who caught her in both his hands.

'Sorry,' Natalya muttered, steadying herself as best she could. 'This is the furthest I've walked since I got hit in the head.'

'Best get back to bed then,' he said, ushering her back through the gate.

They passed Lev again who deliberately didn't look up as he locked the gate behind them. Together, they trudged back to the hospital. Grigori deposited her back at the doors, then made to leave.

'Are you not coming back for some peace and quiet?' she asked.

Grigori turned, his hands now slung lazily in his overcoat pockets. 'I've seen all I need to.' He gave her a nod, then continued towards the barracks.

Pausing, Natalya looked up at the sky in search of comfort. She felt far too alone for starikan to be watching her. Perhaps even the great bear knew better than to tangle with a demon like Grigori.

More confused than their first meeting, Natalya darted into the hospital and made for the relative safety of her bed.