The Girl From Moscow
The first thing Aria Volkov learned about America was that nobody looked at each other.
Everyone was always rushing.
Cars moved too fast. People talked too loudly. Coffee shops were packed with strangers who barely noticed the person sitting beside them.
It was perfect.
Nobody noticed a woman who wanted to disappear.
Aria sat alone beside the window of a small café in Brooklyn, her hands wrapped around a cup of coffee she hadn't touched.
Her eyes moved across the room.
Door.
Window.
Emergency exit.
Two cameras.
Three possible threats.
One man sitting alone near the back who had checked his phone eleven times in six minutes.
Aria looked away.
Probably nothing.
Probably.
Her phone vibrated.
Once.
She didn't immediately touch it.
Another vibration.
She finally looked down.
UNKNOWN NUMBER
She opened the message.
«Ты на месте?
(Are you in position?)»
Aria's expression didn't change.
She typed.
«Да.
(Yes.)»
The reply came almost instantly.
«Не забывай, зачем ты здесь.
(Don't forget why you're here.)»
Her jaw tightened.
She knew why she was there.
She had known for three months.
Find Anton Petrov.
A former Black Veil operative who had stolen information from the organization and disappeared into America.
Find him.
Get the information.
Kill him if necessary.
Simple.
Aria locked her phone and slipped it into her coat pocket.
Then someone bumped into her table.
"Oh my God. I'm so sorry."
Aria looked up.
A woman stood beside her.
Dark hair.
Brown eyes.
A cream-colored sweater that was slightly too big for her.
And an expression that looked genuinely embarrassed.
Aria glanced at the coffee spilling across the table.
Then at the woman.
"It's fine."
"It's definitely not fine. I just ruined your coffee."
"I wasn't drinking it."
The woman blinked.
"Then why did you order it?"
Aria paused.
She hadn't considered that.
"I like coffee."
The woman stared at her for a second before laughing.
"Okay. You're weird."
Aria's eyebrows lifted.
Nobody spoke to her like that.
Not at Black Veil.
Not in Russia.
Not anywhere.
The woman wiped the table with a handful of napkins.
"I'm Maya."
Aria hesitated.
Names were dangerous.
Especially hers.
"Aria."
"Nice to meet you, Aria."
Maya smiled.
Aria didn't smile back.
She wasn't sure how.
Maya picked up her bag.
"Well, I'll let you get back to your very serious coffee."
Aria watched her walk away.
Something felt strange.
Not dangerous.
Not threatening.
Just...
strange.
Her phone vibrated again.
Aria looked down.
A photograph appeared on the screen.
Anton Petrov.
Underneath it was an address.
MIDNIGHT.
Aria stood.
She left the café without looking back.
At least, that's what she told herself.
But when she reached the street, she glanced through the window.
Maya was still there.
And somehow, she was looking directly at Aria.
Their eyes met.
Maya smiled.
Aria looked away first.
She hated that she had noticed.
She hated even more that she was already wondering whether she'd see Maya again.
Because Aria Volkov had been trained to recognize danger.
And somehow, she hadn't realized yet that the most dangerous thing in her new life wouldn't be a gun.
It would be a woman who smiled at her like she was just another human being.
