Tatiana's steps were slow but heavy. Each one brought her closer to the window where Lydia stood, her gaze still fixed on the pale morning sky. Lydia didn't move. She didn't turn her head. She didn't even seem aware of the quiet footsteps behind her.
Tatiana's hands were clenched so tightly that her knuckles turned white. In one hand, she held the fruit knife she had picked up from the floor.
Her breath was uneven. Her heart was pounding in her chest, but her anger pushed her forward. She could see Lydia's back, the robe hanging loosely on her body, her hair spilling down like a challenge.
She gripped the knife tighter. She was close enough now that she could reach out. Just a few more steps and it would be done.
But before her hand could move, a shadow appeared between them.
Ivan.
