Chita never fails to amuse me with how 'untidy' everything in it is. Wide streets, too much sky, buildings so blocky it's unclear whether they belonged to the past or are waiting for the future.

  I go to Chita at least once every season, but today, I'd noticed it a little more carefully than usual.

  After wandering a few turns, I found the train line in no time.

  Strange, I thought to myself, I swear I had never been here before... or have I?

  When my train finally arrived, facing westward into Lake Kenon and whatever lay beyond it

  I half-expected a woman in a brown coat to walk out. Don't know, maybe it was the rhythm of the train, or just me.

  I didn't dwell. I kept moving

  Metal against metal, a child crying somewhere behind me, steam hissing from beneath the train as if it were impatient with the rest of us.

  I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder and stepped forward when the conductor barely glanced at my ticket.

  Immediately upon entering, I was greeted by narrow corridors in which the outside noise dissolved into a low hum.

  After a moment of moving shoulder-to-shoulder in the endless labyrinth of warm brown, I finally reached my room

  I dropped my bag with a soft thud and let my eyes wander, taking in the familiar hum of the radiator, the faint scent of polished wood, and the quiet drone of the building settling around me

  I pulled the curtains aside and looked out the window.

  Siberia stretched itself in long, muted bands. A sea of taiga green spread endlessly, occasionally broken by the blues of the Ingoda River and reds and grays of rooftops scattered across the grassy plains between swaths of forests

  I leaned back in my seat, letting the train's gentle sway pull me

  It had been four months since we adopted Mishka back in Soyolma's spring break, and he had grown into a tiny whirlwind at home.

  Those four months were filled with countless moments of laughter, small joys, and quiet anticipation. While he would occasionally create disastrous moments like finding my sandals completely chewed or the house swallowed in brown, the smile Mishka left on Soyolma's face whenever he tumbled into her arms made every mishap worth it

  I let my gaze drift out the window again

  This time, the trees slowly went out of sight as we descended into a valley rich in tall grasses

  Even the river changed. The water had become so clear that you could see each rock on the riverbed, and it had become a bit more jagged.

  A voice echoed through the wooden walls

  "We've crossed the Vitim River."

  Eh, sounded about right

  And it was followed by other chatter I couldn't quite understand. Although for some particular reason, the voice sounded calm in a way that felt out of place for casual chatter.

  I didn't think much of it beyond how thin the walls would be for you to overhear chitchat

  There, I took out the camera I had packed inside my blue backpack and started to record outside the window

  The tall grasses stretched on, with gentle rolling hills in the distance. It reminded me of дом back in Borzya, where tiny peaks dominated the landscape. Can't believe it has been 18 years already

  Eventually, my fingers relaxed, lowering the camera without much thought

  My stomach reminded me it was breakfast time. A quiet, habitual tug rather than hunger

  My hands reached out for the lunchbox

  Alongside the lunchbox was my water tank. It lifted quickly. I didn't add water

  Setting the lunchbox aside, I swung the door open and stepped into the corridor, heading toward the Samovar. Maybe a hot cup would make up for my absentmindedness.

  After a minute of walking in the unforgivingly tight corridors, I reached the end of the carriage, and there it was

  Conveniently placed on top of a wooden counter with no queue in sight

  Отлично!, I whispered to myself

  It took a little bit of convincing, but water eventually rushed out, and I filled the tank rather quickly. And I was ready to get back into my room as fast as I had left it

  Then I heard footsteps behind me. It paused for a few seconds, and it resumed, but slower this time

  I didn't turn. Didn't want to interrupt my rhythm. Probably just another passenger, I told myself

  The shuffle of fabric and the soft click of metal from the corridor made my stomach tighten just slightly. Not danger, just awareness. Someone was there, and I'd feel it soon enough

  I adjusted the lid on the tank and swung it on my hands, ready to retrace my steps-

  "Прекрасный день, не правда ли?"

  I froze mid-step, the tank swinging lightly in my hands

  Да... да, действительно, I muttered, voice low, not wanting to draw attention

  A soft laugh followed, and the shuffle of fabric shifted closer, careful, and measured

  My head turned to face the owner of the voice

  A woman stood there, blond, tucked into a sweater and silk pants, who looked maybe just a tad bit older than me. Yet, something in her gaze felt deliberate and curious

  Her eyes darted between mine and... my hair? Green eyes. Light blond hair. Rare. Still.

  In the corner of my eye, I saw something little, or someone, peeking at me for a fleeting second before darting down the corridors and disappearing.

  Before I could ask what was going on, the blond woman had taken a step closer, her voice soft but steady.

  "Откуда вы приехали?"

  I scratched my head. Have I met her before? Something about the way she carried herself. Polite, deliberate felt very familiar, yet distant

  Эээ... Уст-Каменск? I said, voice low, hoping to satisfy whatever she was trying to get from me without giving away too much

  She nodded and proceeded to look at the ground for a few seconds

  "You know... my husband once said there's only one person in this federation with hair even lighter than mine," she spoke softly, almost conversational. Her eyes flickered to mine and lingered just a second too long to be casual.

  I wasn't sure how to respond. A comment on my hair definitely felt ordinary.

  She smiled faintly, tilting her head.

  "And such bright green eyes... my husband always said he'd only seen that once before."

  I passed my tank to my other hand and pretended like I was busy with the lid

  ах... серьёзно?

  She didn't answer immediately

  Instead, her gaze drifted back to the corridor for a moment, as if she had suddenly remembered something trivial

  "Perhaps," she said lightly, "It's not so rare after all."

  Her fingers brushed against the edge of the counter

  "But still... Ust-Kamensk is a small place."

  That made me place my water tank down

  "People tend to remember each other there."

  That was enough

  I was already deciding how to end this politely. Whether to ask who she was or step past her

  Then I heard footsteps again, but this time, multiple and very deliberate.

  The lighter ones approached quickly, while the heavier ones were slower, but unmistakably directed.

  A part of me urged for all-out defense.

  What if I had just been discovered by them? What am I going to do cornered at the counter? Where will I run to?

  My fists clenched tightly as I studied the geometry of the narrow corridor that lay ahead

  The blond woman audibly whispered

  "Это действительно он"

  She added, now with her smile gone and her body posture looser

  "Ты в порядке?"

  Then she stepped back towards the sound of the footsteps, and suddenly, they all stopped

  I was confused, but I didn't linger. This was my opportunity

  I grabbed my water tank and prepared to ram the lock open to escape to the next carriage

  Then the footsteps resumed, now close enough for it to numb the sound of my own heartbeat

  I raised my hand and prepared to break the lock open and escape to safety

  3. 2. 1-

  "Успокойся, Микола!" a man's voice, low in tone, echoed across the carriage.

  For a second, I didn't even react.

  Because that name didn't belong here. Not in the narrow train corridors, or beside metal samovars, or carried by strangers' footsteps

  It belonged somewhere sealed away, under mountains of paperwork

  And only my friends, Mandukhai and Soyolma, were supposed to know it.

  And that wasn't any man's voice. It's the same calm one that spoke through the walls a moment ago.

  I expected my name to be called again. I had stayed frozen in that arm-raised stance for too long now.

  But the silence only stretched

  Slowly, I let my hand drop. The tank brushed against my leg as I turned

  A brunette, blue-eyed man stood there, in summer shorts and a warm blue T-shirt

  One of his hands rested lightly against the wooden wall as if he had stopped himself from stepping forward too quickly.

  Behind him stood the blond woman, and a young girl holding the woman's sides

  All three of them were looking at me

  But I only looked back at the brunette man.

  The way he gazed at me, the way he carefully studied my face, and the way his eyes moved steadily, I have seen it before, but inside an officer's uniform...

  And I have known only one police officer in my entire life.

  "Доброе утро... Коля"

  He paused for a second, and everyone in this carriage knew what he was about to say

  "Я... Вадим. Давно не виделись."

  Something in my chest shifted.

  My hands didn't. They held the tank tighter

  The blond woman took one small step forward. She held her arms against her chest

  "О боже, что они с тобой сделали?", her voice soft and gentle, clearly worried about what's going on

  But Vadim held his arm in front of her and looked at her for a second

  "Стоп, Мария."

  Then his head slowly turned to me

  He took a deep breath, then gulped

  "Коля... подойди. Надо поговорить.”

  The corridor suddenly felt smaller than it had a moment ago. The tank hung at my side, heavier now, though I knew it wasn't

  He wasn't advancing. And that alone was enough to make my grip loosen

  Vadim eventually sighed and turned away

  But upon unlocking his room, he turned his head around me, and his voice echoed through the carriage

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  "Можешь не торопиться. Я буду ждать здесь."

  He creaked the wooden door open

  And by the time I looked up to see him, he had already disappeared, although I didn't hear the door thud

  Then I resumed looking down, the tank loosely held in my left arm

  The usual rhythm of wheels against rail returned quickly, too quickly, as if nothing had happened at all.

  Someone coughed further down the corridor. Another walked past us for the Samovar

  The blond woman studied me for a few more seconds.

  She gulped, "Здравствуйте, ааа- Микола. Я Мария. Приятно познакомиться"

  I didn't answer

  Then she directly stared at my eyes, slightly crouching to meet mine, which were looking at the floor for a very long time now.

  “Все в порядке. Ты не обязан сейчас отвечать.”

  My shoulders loosened; they stiffened ever so slightly.

  Then I felt something light move below me

  A gentle voice murmured, ”Извините, Вы уронили свою воду.”

  I looked down

  It was the little girl, holding my water tank with both her hands. I hadn’t even realized I had dropped it.

  Спасибо, милая.

  The little girl smiled, reunited with Maria shortly after, and they finally walked past me to get water from the Samovar

  That’s when my body just… decided to move. Not towards anything, it was just tired of staying in the same place for so long

  At the doorway leading into the train corridors. My hands held the frame and stopped.

  They were already by the Samovar now. Maria stood beside the girl, guiding the tank beneath the tap as if nothing unusual had happened.

  She hadn’t pressed me.

  Hadn’t asked anything more.

  Just… let it pass

  Maria

  She glanced back.

  I sighed

  Спасибо… что заметили

  It came out quieter than I intended.

  She simply nodded, not making anything of it.

  And that was enough.

  I turned back toward the corridor, to his unclosed door. Something inside me nudged to know what 'talk' Vadim wants with me

  Without pushing the door wide open, I simply made my way through the tiny gap Vadim had left for me to enter.

  One side of the compartment stood in quiet order.

  The blanket was pulled tight, corners squared. A folded shirt rested at the foot of the bed. Even the shoes beneath it were aligned heel-to-heel.

  Only an old watch lay on the small table, slightly off-center.

  The other side was different.

  A blanket was pushed aside. A pillow leaning halfway off the edge. A half-open school bag sat on the seat with a children’s book peeking out, its pages bent from use. Hair ties rested wherever they had last been taken off.

  It wasn’t messy in the same way.

  Just… used.

  Lived in.

  I found myself looking at the tidy side first.

  Then again, at the other.

  And somehow, neither felt out of place.

  Chapter 8B(A lot of dialogue, so brace yourselves)

  He hadn't expected me to come, or at least, not this early.

  Vadim quickly gathered what he could and offered tea in a one-use paper cup.

  He invited me to sit beside him on the tidy bed.

  Shoulder to shoulder, I settled onto it, the blanket rustling beneath me.

  Only now did I realize how much he had... changed

  Well, there were things I could still recognize about him. His calm pose, steady hands, and the way he carried himself. Some things hadn't changed a bit.

  But what I couldn't remember were the faint lines forming around his eyes, the slightly broader shoulders, or how his voice carried the weight of someone who had seen things.

  The conversation was initiated by him before I could comment on it

  He studied my face for a bit, carefully examining each detail as if I could disappear any second.

  "Wow... Kolya," he said finally, "you haven't aged a second."

  I didn't think much of it at first; I don't see much difference in me between now and 5 years ago

  He added, "How old are you now?"

  Ah. Tomorrow, I turn thirty

  Vadim leaned back a little at that; the thought settled in.

  "Thirty..." he said

  A faint exhale followed.

  "I remember when we used to think that was old..."

  Just as I was thinking about how I could answer that, something buzzed inside my pocket.

  I had signal again

  Short. Insistent.

  That's how I knew we'd just reached a town.

  My hands reached out to investigate the shaking.

  "Звонит Солья."

  Of course, she calls me at the worst possible time.

  I said to Vadim, half-chuckling and half-anxious

  Извините. Эээ- моя дочь звонит

  He answered after a brief pause

  "Эм... Ничего страшного.”

  I didn't respond

  Soyolma's voice burst through the speaker, as loud as she usually is, but gasping this time

  "Привет папа!!"

  Добрый день, мой свет. Как поживает Мишка?"

  "We ran all day. But," she paused for a breath

  "He's still wagging his tails and he's pawing at the door."

  Mhm. Have you given him his bone treats?

  "Да! He demolished it in 4 seconds."

  Looks like you have to take him out again, hm?

  "Нееет," another gasp

  "Я устала."

  My mind caught up.

  Vadim had long got up, and he was rummaging through a bag, clearly looking for something.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a poster with a sign in it saying

  Экскурсии на Байкал(vacation in Baikal)

  Soyolma spoke through the phone again.

  "Ты в каком городе?"

  Не знаю, доча. Хочешь узнать?

  "Да! Ну скажи!"

  I got up from the bed and carefully made my way to the window, making sure not to step on the floor of headbands beneath.

  Right now, we're going uphill surrounded by birch trees.

  "Среди берёз, которые тянутся в гору." she repeated quietly. Her voice made me imagine the view twice. Once through my eyes, once through hers.

  Ah! The sign said we were crossing the Khila River. I held the phone so she could hear

  "О! Река Хила!" she repeated, excitement in her voice.

  Then I heard a thud sound on the other side, and a bunch of footsteps getting more distant with each one.

  From the tidy side of the bed, Vadim leaned against the headboard, arms crossed lightly.

  He didn't speak, didn't move, just watched me narrate the scenery. Quiet, calm, like he always did.

  The sound of footsteps returned shortly after, this time accompanied by an uncontrollable rustle of paper.

  She was out of breath. Again.

  "На этой карте написано, что река Хила проходит через Петровск-Забайкальский!"

  Ах! Я вижу это

  She continued, "Petrovsk-Zabaykalsky is just 154km away from Ulan-Ude!"

  Интересно...

  Then I heard another voice from the other side, faint and distant.

  "Oh. Mama is calling me!"

  I sighed. What is Mandukhai going to do with her now?

  Окей. Я позвоню тебе из Улан-Удэ. Сделка?

  "Сделка! Пока!."

  Пока, мой свет-

  And she hung up.

  I lowered my Nokia into my pocket and stared outside the small square window

  The tree colors had shifted from white to brown again, the leaves becoming slightly more muted in tone.

  After silence had stretched for long enough, Vadim spoke, soft in tone

  "Ты изменился."

  I responded quickly, but surprisingly calm.

  Прошло много времени, Вадим

  It took him a few seconds

  "А я нет."

  He took a deep breath, "I still see that 17-year-old boy on that rainy night. Or that 24-year-old to whom I swore my life to walk this planet safely."

  The words settled between us.

  I kept my gaze on the window; the pine trees had changed to taiga again.

  His eyes gradually softened even more than they already were

  He sighed, Извини, если я... напомнил

  I gave a pat on his shoulder.

  Нет. Все в порядке, I said in a low tone

  I've learned how to exist with it.

  He nodded once

  “Хорошо.”

  Then I asked a question I had been itching for ever since the night I heard about it

  А у меня есть вопрос.

  ”М?”, his head caught up

  I saw your interview in Chita on television.

  I added, a little louder

  Ты сказал… моё имя

  His eyes softened even more than they already were, and he slightly leaned forward. His voice gentle

  “Чтобы это больше не было тайной.”

  I wasn’t ready, Vadim.

  “Kolya,” he responded quickly

  “You are safe now. They are gone. Every single one of them.”

  I let the words settle in. My shoulders unclenched slightly. Outside, the taiga rolled past, steady and unthreatening.

  Then I finally said it. Words I owed to Vadim ever since the 28th of March 1995. Words I had been saying inside but never on the outside, and today was that time.

  "Спасибо."

  Vadim's eyes lowered for a brief second, as if weighing the words, before lifting to meet mine.

  He gave a small nod

  Not as an officer. Not as шеф Артемов

  But as Вадим. Someone who understood what had just changed between us.

  And I think that was enough

  He eventually broke his posture to go searching

  From the same bag he had rummaged earlier, he took out one of his notes to tear a small piece apart and started writing

  His lines were disconnected but coherent, each ink written as clearly as possible

  Then he handed it out to me

  "Вот мой номер телефона."

  I took the paper carefully.

  Each line of ink is drawn with clarity, something anyone is supposed to understand.

  Not long after, Maria returned with tiny water droplets dripping down the metal.

  "Фуу Вадимка! Самовар не работает. Должен был это исправить."

  "Ну что, Маш. Взяла свою воду?"

  Maria sighed, looking slightly annoyed but relieved.

  "Я... так думаю."

  After I waited for them to resettle on the untidy side of the room, I began heading for the door and back to mine.

  Vadim spoke behind me, softly

  "Передай от меня привет своей дочери!"

  Буду. Пока. Друг мой.

  I left their room. Not happy. Not upset

  Just a feeling that something had finally been lifted from my shoulders.

  I returned to my door immediately next door with more questions than answers.

  CHAPTER 8C(back to 8A kind of writing)

  In the evening that day, the train arrived at Ulan-Ude sooner than I expected

  From somewhere outside the door, a firm voice announced:

  "Уважаемые пассажиры! В ближайшее время мы делаем остановку на станции Улан-Удэ для пополнения запасов и технической проверки поезда. Вы можете выйти и прогуляться по городу, пожалуйста, вернитесь к поезду до 20:00. Благодарим за внимание и желаем приятного пути!"

  I put on my reliable blue jacket, slid my camera over my shoulder, stuffed about a hundred rubles into my pocket, and stepped outside.

  Upon stepping off, I was met with a light yellow-blue-painted train station. Its brightness is reminiscent of shades I remember seeing on people's homes in Borzya. And the building was even more blocky than the one in Chita. But the sharp smell of diesel and the occasional hissing of other trains quickly snapped me back to the present.

  From somewhere behind me, I heard a few guys speaking with their throats, a lot of harsh sounds, almost as if they were sore and angry at each other.

  I thought it was Buryat at first. I was in their republic after all, it made sense. They sounded a lot like how Mandukhai would be when she's angry.

  Except what I could understand stood out.

  A lot of "Монгол.", and something like "Ешее.", or whatever their version of "еще." is

  Then they waddled their way past the other passengers. They often raised their hands in front of them and walked very carefully. The group eventually came within talking distance of me and asked:

  "Здравствуйте. Вы знаmь... ааа- где статуя Ленин?"

  Хм? I was less surprised at their incorrect Russian and more shocked about why they specifically chose me from all these people on the station. Maybe they thought the blue jacket meant I was a local guide... or maybe the camera made me look like someone who could help.

  Не знаю. Я из другого региона. А... вы кто?

  They took a moment to answer, looking at each other, whispering in their own language, before a guy with glasses was chosen to speak to me.

  That's when I realized they look... Asian. One man was tan; the other was snow white, just with a yellowish tint. High cheekbones, more subtle folds around their eyes, and red-flushed cheeks

  Besides how they look, all of them were tucked inside clothes even thinner than mine in the chilly August winds, but each with their own large backpack, uniform in color, with all types of items sticking out of it.

  It was enough for me to figure out...

  "Мы... из Монголии. Мы... идем Дархан в Иркутск."

  Ah, it makes sense now. The cold wind, the yellow-blue station walls, and the distant chatter. Suddenly, I remembered that Mongolia is very close to here.

  About Lenin's head... should be near the bridge over the Selenga, or maybe somewhere in the center. The layout shouldn't be too different from Chita's.

  I turned around and gestured with a sweeping hand, inviting them to follow.

  Ходите за мной.

  Their cautious eyes followed mine; suddenly, it clicked why they were so careful in the wind.

  Using road signs, I connected line by line until we'd be standing in front of that head.

  The colors I saw were a bit more vibrant as the skyline quickly shifted from old bright yellow buildings to the same blocky 4-floor apartments I see anywhere in the Federation, with a surprising number of wooden houses being so deep within the city.

  There were a few Asian faces here and there. It was a bit strange coming from someone who is from a very Russian place. Oh, right, I'm in a republic.

  On the pavements, I realized something else: Ulan-Ude felt larger than Chita. The roads were wider. More people moved through the streets. And perhaps it was my imagination, but everything seemed just a little cleaner, and didn't feel like an intentionally planned urban sprawl like the other one. It felt more like a place people could live in.

  As we walked beneath an overpass, the view opened suddenly. A sea of large light yellow tsarist-era buildings rose, glowing in the sunset, their facades washed in deeper shades of gold. Facing them stood a typical Soviet-gray structure, blocky, restrained. I hadn’t seen its front yet, but I assumed it was something official.

  Behind me, the Mongolians kept talking. I caught “Монгол” again. And “Орос.”

  Ah. That must be what they call Russia

  Then, one of them spoke to me, in broken Russian, but a version I could still understand

  "Я не знал… в России дома похожи на Монголия."

  I almost smiled.

  There was a time when Mongolia was more than just a border on a map. When you see Mongolian students or workers here and there. I remembered that much from childhood.

  Perhaps countries that are close end up with similar buildings.

  Or perhaps we built some of theirs. My uncle had worked there for years, after all.

  After a few more turns, a massive dark sphere peeked out, overlooking a busy parking space and another official-looking building.

  And before I could realize it myself, one of them stopped.

  "Ленин?"

  Так думаю...

  Another stepped ahead of me and spoke

  "Больше... спасибо."

  Ах, не надо

  He nodded.

  The others stepped past me and followed the one leading

  They made their way to the statue at their own unique paces. One looked around, left and right, and refused to stray from the others. Whereas another almost flew to the head instantly.

  I thought of coming here to just guide them to the statue and then go somewhere else for a bakery, or a restaurant, if my stomach demanded more.

  And so, that's exactly what I did.

  I crossed the wide road in front of the wide parking area.

  The locals seemed to coexist with the statue itself, just casually walking past it like it was normal background stuff.

  Landing at a cafe that felt familiar enough was my plan.

  In front of me, I saw 3 options

  -Subway, supposedly a Western brand directly facing the statue.

  -A place with Buryat cuisine to the left of the statue.

  -A small local cafe just around the corner.

  Disliking heavy meat the way I do, the cafe was chosen.

  I ordered no more than the usual espresso and a sandwich alongside it. It wasn’t much, but it was more than enough until next morning.

  Hanging on the walls of the cafe, there were a few portraits of Lake Baikal, and placed on the main counter, I saw a cloth pattern, but not the typical Russian floral. Just had a bunch of winding straight lines going over the other.

  Nice detail, I thought to myself

  Upon exiting the cafe, I only saw more yellow buildings, and that was enough for me decide I'll be heading straight back to the train.

  There was plenty of time. So I just guessed I'd probably catch myself reading Mikhail Bulgakov again, or maybe announce to Soyolma where I'm at.

  Then, around the corner, I faced Lenin's head again.

  It suddenly hit me

  Soyolma would want proof I was here in her mother's homeland, not just confirmation from behind a rectangle that can't be saved.

  I walked at a steady pace, slowly adjusting my camera to the statue as I helped an older woman across the road.

  There was no reason to hurry. The alternative would’ve been to sit on the cold train bed for any longer than I needed to.

  I let the camera record short clips of the square. Occasionally, accompanied by my voice to subtly remind who was behind the lens.

  Just that... it took longer than expected to lower them.

  After circling the square itself, I wandered beyond the central avenue to film the city skylines, the few dispersed Buryat signs along the streets, or a fountain across the road that I found interesting.

  It's only when I had reached the bridge over the Selenga that I realized my curiosity had taken me to the other side of the city.

  Across the Selenga, Ulan-Ude became lower.

  The buildings, shortened into gray four-floor blocks, pressed closer together. Color thinned out.

  Wooden houses appeared more often, fenced and uneven, smoke clinging lightly above them.

  It was smaller in scale, but denser, and easier to believe that this was where many people live.

  And this is where my body turned. Not towards the other side. Just not any deeper inside here.

  By this point, only the top slices of the sun visible, greeted by wide, warm red patches forming around it. Shops were taking turns closing their doors.

  Ah, should get there right on time

  15 minutes later, I was already standing back on the baby blue-yellow station. Late enough for the train to have done inspection, but just early enough to avoid a stampede at the train queue.

  Another few minutes of a dozen train horns humming by, and the unforgiving scent of diesel replacing the fresh and cool air only August can make

  I was back in the narrow train corridors of my carriage.

  A faint suitcase mark ran across the floor, its direction leading inside.

  When the doorframe eventually showed itself, I found everything there to be just... clean.

  The 'messy' half wasn't so untidy anymore.

  The floor was almost spotless of headbands and littered with crayons

  Even the old watch was missing from the table.

  Then something blue glittered in the corner of my eye.

  Placed on the windowsill stood a small icon of Saint Nicholas against a navy background.

  Beside it lay a folded regional map of the Far East.

  On the eastern shore of Lake Baikal, Goryachinsk had been circled in red.

  I didn't give a second thought about it. Maybe Vadim didn't have time for everything.

  My feet resumed their pace back to the corridor.

  Two doors down, I heard people arguing. But with their throats and each word folding onto the other as if the sentences had no edges.

  Oh. Must be them

  By the time I reached my compartment again, the carriage had begun filling. Suitcases scraped against the floor, doors shut, voices called down the corridor.

  Everyone had returned. No one was late.

  The train shuddered once, then motion began

  And slowly, the platform began to slide away.

  The Buryat capital steadily shrank beyond the windows as people's brown wooden houses quickly replaced the almost uniform gray apartment blocs

  My head leaned on the glass, and I let my thoughts linger.

  Only then did it occur to me how the city felt.

  I hadn't looked over my shoulder once.

  Not on the streets. Not inside the station. Not even on the bridge.

  For a few hours, I had simply been another person in the street. And that had been enough.

  Phew, chapter 8 is done. Besides my PC deciding to sabotage my entire work with a single left mouse click, the process was pretty normal and very smooth. Which, oddly enough, fits what I just wrote. And I promise, siblings update next chapter

  Also, fun fact, I’ve actually been to Ulan-Ude myself. Physically.

  Maybe that’s useful information. Maybe not.