STOLEN SILENCE

Aurora Vale never wanted to be brave. She only wanted to go home. The hallway smelled like disinfectant layered over something far worse—metallic, sharp, unmistakably wrong. Aurora slowed her steps the moment she realized the building was too quiet. No footsteps. No distant elevator hum. Not even the low murmur of city life bleeding through concrete walls. Just silence. The kind that listened back. Her phone vibrated once in her palm. Unknown Number: Room 1709. Do not be late. Aurora stopped walking. Her pulse climbed instantly, a familiar rush of panic she had learned to suppress since the night everything went wrong. Since the night she had seen something she was never meant to witness. Since the night a man died screaming—and another noticed her standing there. She swallowed hard and forced herself to move. The carpet leading to Room 1709 was darker than the rest, freshly replaced. That detail lodged itself in her mind, sharp and unwanted. Renovations didn’t happen overnight. Not unless someone paid for urgency. Aurora stopped in front of the door. No handle. Just a smooth black panel and a faint red sensor glowing at eye level. Her phone vibrated again. Unknown Number: Knock. Once. Twice. Pause. Once. Her fingers trembled as she followed the instruction. The door opened inward without a sound. Warm light spilled out, too soft for a place like this. The room beyond was spacious, luxurious in a way that felt deliberate—expensive furniture, muted colors, the scent of clean linen barely masking iron and smoke. And him. He stood near the window, tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in black as if the color had been tailored onto his body. His posture was relaxed, hands loosely at his sides, but Aurora recognized danger when she saw it. This was not a man who chased. This was a man who waited. “You’re late,” he said calmly. Aurora’s throat tightened. “Your message came five minutes ago.” His gaze slid to her phone, then back to her face. Cold. Assessing. “And yet,” he replied, stepping closer, “you hesitated outside my door for almost a minute.” Her breath caught. He was right. She hadn’t realized she’d been standing there that long. “You’re observant,” she said quietly, forcing her voice not to shake. A faint smile touched his lips—not warmth, not humor. Recognition. “I have to be,” he answered. “You wouldn’t be here otherwise.” The door closed behind her. Locked. Aurora flinched before she could stop herself. The man noticed. “Relax,” he said. “If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be breathing right now.” That was not reassurance. Her nails bit into her palm as she looked around the room. A single chair near the center. A table beside it. On the table— Aurora froze. A folded uniform. Dark fabric. Stiff. Stained. Blood, dried and brown, marked the sleeves and hem in irregular patterns. Not splatter—transfer. As if someone had worn it while leaning over something… or someone. Her stomach lurched. “You recognize it,” the man said softly. Aurora shook her head. “No.” He stepped closer, invading her space without touching her. She could feel his presence like pressure against her skin, every instinct screaming danger. “You’re lying,” he said calmly. “But that’s acceptable. Lying is how people survive.” She forced herself to meet his eyes. They were steel-gray. Empty. Focused. “Why am I here?” Aurora asked. He studied her face for a long moment before answering. “My name is Aleksander Volkov,” he said. “And you are here because you saw something you weren’t supposed to see.” Her heart slammed against her ribs. “So it’s true,” she whispered. “Someone followed me.” Aleksander tilted his head slightly. “Followed is such an innocent word.” He turned and gestured toward the uniform. “You were given a choice.” Aurora stared at the bloodstained fabric. “That doesn’t look like a choice.” “No,” he agreed. “It looks like survival.” Her breath came faster now. “I didn’t tell anyone. I swear. I didn’t go to the police.” “I know,” he said. “That’s why you’re still alive.” The words hit harder than any threat. Aleksander stepped back, giving her just enough space to breathe—then pointed to the chair. “Sit.” Aurora hesitated. Something shifted in the room then. Not visible. Not audible. But real. Her eyes flicked to the corner near the bed. And that was when she saw it. A pair of boots. Heavy. Black. Military-grade. One of them was stained with something dark and tacky, partially wiped but unmistakable. Fresh. Her chest tightened. Someone else had been here. Recently. And they hadn’t walked out. Aleksander followed her gaze. “Good,” he said quietly. “You’re paying attention.” Her voice barely came out. “What do you want from me?” He looked at her like she was a problem already solved. “You will work for me,” he said. “You will do exactly what you’re told. You will clean what needs to be erased.” Aurora’s stomach twisted. “I’m not a criminal.” “No,” he replied. “You’re a liability.” Silence stretched between them. Then, softer—but far more dangerous— “I can make that problem disappear,” Aleksander continued. “Or I can make you useful.” Her mind raced. Her rent overdue. Her mother’s hospital bills. The anonymous messages that had started two days ago—photos of her apartment door, her reflection in shop windows, her name typed slowly, letter by letter. He knew. They all knew. Aurora closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she nodded once. Aleksander watched her carefully. “Good,” he said. “Put on the uniform.” Her hands shook as she reached for it. The blood was cold. And not all of it was dry.