A DEAL TO SELL MY SOUL

This chapter is Sveta's finale (barring epilogues). It picks up with her getting the news that Zhanna assassinated the alleged Nazi commandant. And while Sveta sheds no tears over the death of a German, the kill was unsanctioned, and the Americans are pissed. Zhanna has been arrested for insubordination, for conduct unbecoming of an officer, and for killing the suspected, but not yet proven, enemy against orders.

That's when Sveta realizes she has a choice to make, just not the choice she thought she'd get to make about Ron and Boston. Zhanna will never get out of the court martial and the arrest herself. But Sveta could. She heads to the meeting Sink is holding with Dick, Nixon, Speirs, and Welsh regarding Zhanna's arrest. Putting on a metaphorical mask, she decides to embrace the hatred the Americans feel toward her. She weaponizes her words once more.

Sveta boasts that SHE killed the Nazi, not Zhanna. After all, how could a weak, timid Pole be so ruthless. No. It was her, in a moment of revenge. They don't immediately believe her, so she turns it on them. Sveta knows what makes people tick. She tears into everyone present, trying to burn all her bridges.

Nixon, who's been left behind by his wife and can't handle his alcohol... Of course his intel was wrong. Winters and Welsh are too distracted pining over their girls... Sveta expresses surprise that Winters is willing to arrest Zhanna—then again, it makes sense he would be so overly confident in her abilities. And why would Ron care if she assassinated a suspected commandant? He killed his own man.

If she can burn the bridges, get them angry enough to act without thinking too hard, they'll trade her life for Zhanna's. And that's exactly what happens.

Sveta is arrested. And that's where we pick up with an excerpt of the end.

...a deal to sell my soul...

Svetlana | Silmarilz1701

Sveta knew fear. As the MPs grabbed her arms and forced her out of the office, she saw it in the eyes of those she left behind. Fear, anger, betrayal. Her words cut deep. She'd burned those bridges. No one would cross.

The handcuffs on her wrists echoed the ropes that had bound her in Rostov-on-Don. Nothing had changed. A puppet was still a puppet, no matter where she stood. American, Russian, civilian, soldier. Sveta understood that now.

They shut her into a room in the basement of the Austrian hotel. She had a bed, a table. Sveta took a deep breath. She closed her eyes. The bridges had been burned. Her life belonged to Beria, to Stalin, to Russia. It always had. Sveta just hadn't wanted to admit it. She'd lied to herself, in the same way the world had lied to her.

They had the decency to un-cuff her in her cell. She ran her fingers through her hair. They caught on a matted knot. Sveta sighed. She sat on the cot. Putting her head in her hands, she tried to calm down.

Beria had won. Forget the Allies, it had been his victory. He had her. With her, he could take down her father. And then nothing would stand between her and his groping hands.

Any bridge to America had burned with the scathing insults she'd flung in the office at the only people who would maybe have tried to stop her. Zhanna would go to a new home. Zhanna had never been his target anyways.

Sorry, mother.

Tears rolled down Sveta's cheeks as she put her head in her hands, hunched over in her bed. She'd tried to be anything but what they'd made her. But deep down, Sveta was a puppet of the Soviets, and in the end, that's what she became. And now that the Americans hated her, she could take the fall alone. No one else would get dragged down.

She could end it, all of it. It would be her fall to take. Puppets weren't allowed to learn to breathe. They didn't run. They didn't become human. She'd just lied to herself for a decade.

The door handle rattled. Sveta sat up, wiping the tears from her face. She could feel her cheeks flushing, heat radiating from her skin. But she still had to wear the mask.

Her breath left her when Ron walked into the room, the last and only person she wanted to see. He said nothing. The door closed behind him, and he leaned against it. She took a deep breath, forcing down all the feelings that cropped up. All their talks of her escaping Russia, of freedom, of leaving Beria's shadow behind. All the moments of peace. The way he'd saved her life twice already. She had to forget it. Burn it. It all had to burn.

"What do you want, Speirs?" she said. "Come back for another scolding?"

"Why?"

Sveta narrowed her eyes. "Why what? Why did I pretend to be such good little American soldier girl?"

"Stop." Ron crossed his arms. He just watched her, frowning. Not anger, not fear, just sadness. "I know it was her."

No. Sveta's voice left her. She tried to speak, to refute it. But she couldn't. He knew. He couldn't know. "What are you talking about?" she tried. "Zhanna? That helpless traitor?"

Ron shook his head. "Why did you do that?"

She closed her eyes, leaning over her knees again. Her face in her hands, Sveta sighed. She tried not to cry. She tried to keep the mask up. Trembling breaths escaped her even as she gathered her thoughts. Why. Such a simple question.

Sveta stood up, she turned away, covering her mouth as if she could stuff the sobs back down her throat. Her throat ached, trying to stave it off. When she turned back to him and looked in his eyes, she shook her head.

"I had to play the game," she said, her voice faltering even as she spoke. "That's how it is, Ron. If Zhanna gets arrested, she'll be tossed into American prison to rot. If I get arrested, Stalin will get me out." Stalin. Sveta wiped her sweaty palms on her thighs. "And the only way to ensure no one digs deeper is to burn the bridges."

He still didn't move. Ron just watched her, chewing a bit at his cheek. His arms were across his chest. "Going back could be a death sentence."

Sveta's resolve broke. Tears filled her eyes and she covered her face. She knew that. She knew fear. "You can't tell anyone it was her," Sveta begged. "Please, Ron. Please." When he didn't reply, she stepped closer to him. He had to understand. "I need to do this. Let me do this."

"Sveta-"

"Let me choose."

He was so close. Having him so close, it was like a drug. He knew what the others didn't, her weakness and her truths and her fears. In Ron's presence, she felt almost human, beautifully so, dangerously so.

Mere inches from him, she watched as he bit his lip. Then he nodded. And that nod was all she needed to let herself close her eyes. Someone trusted her. For once in her life, someone let her be in control.

And yet that small, insignificant nod, it sealed her fate. She looked at his lips, his face so close to her own. Just a few inches. She could feel his warm breath, leaning closer. A burning filled her body. She wanted to feel human. She wanted to be anything but Beria's puppet. She looked at every little scar, every perfect imperfection on Ron's face. She needed him. She needed him like she needed oxygen.

So she stepped back.

Sveta covered her mouth, hand trembling as she turned from him. She couldn't restrain her tears as silence reigned, and he didn't move. But she couldn't see him. She couldn't see him, couldn't watch as the silence turned into the sound of American boots fading into nothingness.

The world crashed down around her. A chill crept up her spine, and she didn't hold back. She sobbed.

She'd made her choice. She'd burned her bridges.

Sveta knew fear. It had always been there. Even the days she'd thought she was free, fear had been hiding in the shadows. Sitting alone, imprisoned in the belly of the Americans' headquarters, she knew it again. And now Sveta couldn't lie to herself. Those little white lies, they didn't work anymore. She knew fear would never leave, and she knew she'd have to face it alone.