Svetlana lay awake in the quiet darkness of the fort, considering the likelihood that the commandant regularly visited nearby port towns to escape the harsh routine of the labor camp. Exhaustion finally claimed her, and she drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep. She awoke the next morning only when Chimera and Aspira leaped onto her bed, nuzzling her face and resting their heavy paws against her blanket.

After a hot breakfast and a steaming mug of coffee, Svetlana pulled Olga aside into a quiet corner of the courtyard.

“Olga, my faithful friend,” Svetlana said softly, her eyes fixed on the distant horizon. “I have determined the next step in my quest.”

She explained her need to purchase a comprehensive map of Siberia to identify the cities and regional supply hubs nearest to Sevvostlag. “Armed with that knowledge, I can locate Commandant Konstantin Gromov and finish what I started. I will rid the world of him once and for all.”

Eager to begin her preparations, Svetlana announced at the morning meal that she was riding into town for supplies. Olga understood her true motivation but kept quiet. The rest of the group asked no questions, trusting her judgment completely.

In town, alongside a detailed regional map, Svetlana purchased a modest dress—a simple, respectable outfit that would allow her to blend seamlessly into urban crowds without drawing unwanted attention.

That evening, spreading the map across her table, she pinpointed her target: the remote port city of Magadan on the Sea of Okhotsk. Overland access was severely restricted, and the route required traversing hundreds of miles of rugged wilderness and mountain passes. It would be a grueling journey, demanding meticulous preparation.

The following morning, Svetlana called a meeting in the main hall.

“My path leads to Magadan,” she told them, her voice calm and steady. “It is a journey of many weeks—possibly months—through wild and dangerous territory. I will ride my horse and purchase three additional horses in town. I plan to sell my final two diamonds to fund the expedition. Spring has arrived, giving me the warmer months for the crossing. Look after one another and guard our home. I promise I will return.”

Olga opened her mouth to protest, but paused. Turning to the others, she spoke with quiet conviction. “This pledge to her mother is her sacred duty. It consumes her very soul. Unless she completes it, she will never find peace. We must let her go without trying to dissuade her.”

The women nodded in solemn agreement. “Is there anything we can do to help you, Svetlana?” Polina asked gently.

“Only bid me safe passage and await my return,” Svetlana replied. “Ensure Chimera and Aspira are well cared for. I set out at dawn tomorrow. Today, let us enjoy each other’s company.”

They spent the remainder of the day relaxing together, sharing stories, laughing, and enjoying simple conversation. Throughout the afternoon, Chimera and Aspira remained unusually clingy, pressing against Svetlana as if sensing the impending separation. She embraced both wolves tightly, burying her face in their thick fur, uncertain when—or if—she would ever see them again.

When the time came to say goodbye, Svetlana hugged her four sisters-in-arms firmly. Knowing that lingering would only bring tears, she mounted her horse, offered a single farewell wave, and galloped through the fort gates like an arrow loosed from a bow.

The women stood at the gatehouse, watching her form diminish until she was nothing more than a speck against the sweeping Siberian horizon.

Riding straight into town, Svetlana visited a licensed trade office to exchange her remaining two raw diamonds. Negotiating firmly, she secured a substantial sum of currency, then proceeded directly to the livestock stables.

“I need three horses,” she told the trader, inspecting the animals in the corral. “One strong mount for riding, and two healthy pack animals capable of enduring a long overland trek. I will also require a riding saddle, durable leather saddlebags, and four heavy oilskin water bladders.”

Delighted by the substantial cash sale, the trader readily complied, bringing out his finest stock for her inspection.

At the general store, Svetlana purchased tinned rations, dried fruits, and preserved vegetables. At the butcher shop, she bought a heavy supply of cured meats. Her final stop was the gunsmith, where she purchased a secondary repeating rifle, a reliable handgun, and several boxes of ammunition to complement the tent and canvas groundsheet already packed in her gear.

By mid-afternoon, her four-horse convoy was fully outfitted and heading north.

The first three days of the trek passed without incident. The trail wove through wide valleys and grassy plains, allowing the horses to graze freely during evening breaks. On the second night, she made camp in a wooded clearing beside a mountain river, filling her water skins while the horses drank deeply from the cold stream.

On the fourth night, danger arrived.

A pack of wild wolves, drawn by the scent of her horses, circled her campsite. Initially hesitant near the roaring fire, the pack grew bold, forming a deliberate stalking line. Identifying the alpha male at the head of the pack, Svetlana brought her repeating rifle to her shoulder and put a single round through his head.

Cycling the lever with fluid precision, she dropped a second wolf, then a third. Overwhelmed by the swift destruction of their leadership, the remaining pack broke rank and fled into the timber.

Taking out her hunting knife, Svetlana skinned the largest beast for its hide and harvested fresh meat to supplement her rations over the coming days. A week later, while passing through a dense evergreen forest, she felled a wild boar, further restocking her supplies.

Two weeks into the final leg of her journey, the northern coast came into view. Only a single rugged mountain range stood between her and the port. It was a treacherous final climb, requiring immense care to prevent the loaded pack horses from slipping on the rocky paths.

By the following afternoon, Svetlana rode down into the bustling port city of Magadan, her small horse train stepping onto the cobblestone streets.

She steered her horses to the central livery stables, paying the owner a generous deposit to groom, feed, and board her animals. When she inquired about comfortable lodgings, the stable master directed her down Main Street to the North Star Hotel, a prominent establishment frequented by visiting officers, merchant captains, and regional directors.

Svetlana secured a private second-floor room equipped with a deep copper bathtub and a soft bed. After requesting hot water for a long, soaking bath, she changed into her fresh town dress and went down to the dining room for a hot meal. Exhausted from weeks on the trail, she returned to her room, locked the door, and drifted into a peaceful sleep.

She awoke at sunrise to bright light streaming through the curtains. After washing, she walked down to the foyer and approached the hotel manageress.

“Good morning,” Svetlana said politely. “Do officers or soldiers from the nearby Sevvostlag detachment ever visit or lodge here?”

“Indeed they do,” the manageress replied with a warm smile. “We host officers quite frequently.”

“That is wonderful news,” Svetlana said, maintaining a composed facade. “I am searching for my uncle, a military commandant whom I haven’t seen in many years. My mother asked me to seek him out. My name is Svetlana, and my uncle is Commandant Konstantin Gromov.”

“Ah, yes,” the manageress replied, nodding. “I am Ida. I know Commandant Gromov well. He stays with us occasionally, and other times down the street at The Magadan Hotel. He usually comes into town toward the end of the month. You just missed him, dear—he was here last week.”

Svetlana suppressed the surge of adrenaline inside her. Her deduction had been correct.

“Since I am already here, I shall stay for six weeks in hopes of reconnecting with him,” Svetlana said calmly, handing over currency to cover her extended stay. “Thank you for the information, Ida.”

Returning to her room, Svetlana sat at the wooden desk, a cold, satisfied smile touching her lips. Her patience was paying off; her quarry would come directly to her.

To pass the time while waiting for the month to turn, Svetlana explored the city’s shops and bought several classic novels—Oliver Twist, Kidnapped, and Lorna Doone. She quickly became absorbed in Lorna Doone, losing track of time until a gentle knock at her door announced the dinner hour.

That evening in the dining room, Svetlana joined two elderly travelers, Natalya and Ekaterina, at a quiet corner table.

“Before the hard years fell upon our homeland,” Ekaterina shared cheerfully over dinner, “we spent our youth traveling across France, staying at vineyard châteaux in Lyons to learn the craft of winemaking, and exploring countryside estates across Holland and Belgium.”

Svetlana offered them her cover story regarding her “uncle,” enjoying their pleasant conversation before retiring to her room to read until sleep took her.

Over the next several days, Svetlana systematically walked the city streets, mapping out every alleyway, choke point, and escape route in her memory.

On the fifth day of her reconnaissance, she rounded a corner near the market and nearly collided with a middle-aged man stooped over in pain.

As the man raised his head to apologize, recognition struck like a lightning bolt.

“Grego?” Svetlana gasped.

The man stared at her, his eyes widening in shock. “Svetlana? My little angel… it is you! But… how? I thought you died in the mine explosion! What are you doing in Magadan?”

Svetlana threw her arms around him in a tight hug. “Come. Let us find a quiet table, order hot coffee, and talk.”

She guided him into an upscale café nearby. Ignoring the disdainful glances from aristocratic patrons directed at Grego’s worn clothes, Svetlana ordered hot black coffee and fresh pastries.

Sipping the dark liquid, Svetlana recounted her escape: her survival in the wilderness, the two wolves she raised from pups, the fort she had established with Olga and the sisters, and her long trek to Magadan to find the Butcher of Sevvostlag.

Grego listened in stunned silence. “You have extraordinary courage, Svetlana. My story is far simpler. Two years ago, a wave of epidemic typhus swept through the barracks. When the camp fever nearly took my life and left me crippled, the administrators deemed me useless and cast me out. The hospital staff here in town nursed me back to health, and I survive doing odd jobs, living in a small one-room flat nearby.”

Svetlana reached across the table, taking his calloused hand. “You protected me in the camp when I was helpless, Grego. Now I can repay that debt.”

She paused, her voice softening. “Grego… tell me true. Is there any news of my mother?”

Grego’s eyes filled with sorrow, and he struggled to speak. “I am so sorry, Svetlana. Your dear mother… she passed away shortly after your escape. The illness took her, but many say it was a broken heart, believing you had perished in the explosion.”

A cold, heavy grief settled in Svetlana’s chest, hardening her resolve into cold steel.

Setting her grief aside for the moment, Svetlana looked at Grego’s frayed coat. “Drink up, Grego. We are going shopping.”

Grego attempted to protest, but Svetlana insisted. She took him to a fine men’s tailor, purchasing two tailored wool suits, a heavy winter overcoat, four dress shirts, polished leather boots, and fresh linens. When he asked how she could afford such luxuries, she laughed softly, revealing how she had smuggled raw diamonds out of the camp mines.

“Consider it back pay for our forced labor,” she said with a dry smile.

Her final act was bringing Grego back to the North Star Hotel. The concierge raised an eyebrow as Svetlana walked in accompanied by a well-dressed man, but Svetlana ignored the silent judgment.

“Hand me my key, please,” Svetlana requested firmly at the desk. “And I wish to book my friend, Grego, into a private room upstairs for the duration of my stay. Kindly calculate the total bill and have hot bathwater delivered to both our rooms.”

That evening, the dining room patrons looked on in silent respect as Svetlana walked down the grand staircase in an elegant evening gown, flanked by Grego, who looked every bit the distinguished gentleman in his tailored blue suit.

The following morning, after breakfast, Svetlana gestured for Grego to follow her outside.

“We cannot speak freely in the hotel,” she noted as they stepped into the crisp morning air. “Curious ears are everywhere.”

Grego led her to a quiet public park nearby, shaded by grand birch trees and outfitted with wooden benches overlooking manicured lawns.

Sitting on a bench away from the main walking paths, Svetlana turned to him. “Grego, you know why I am here. I intend to execute Commandant Konstantin Gromov the moment he steps into this city. The weather is turning, and I refuse to be trapped here by winter. But this is my crusade, not yours. You owe me nothing.”

Grego raised a hand, his eyes burning with quiet intensity. “Svetlana, I spent years under that tyrant’s boot. I have my own score to settle with Gromov. Remember- I am a trained soldier, and I am an excellent shot with a rifle. Let me stand with you.”

Svetlana looked deeply into her old friend’s eyes, seeing the same unyielding fire that burned in her own chest.

“You may help me plan the trap,” Svetlana conceded softly. “But when the moment comes, the shot belongs to me.”