“Good,” the Commandant said, grinning. “I will send for you when it is time.”

Piotr turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving Vladimir standing alone behind the curtain. The filament in the small lamp’s light bulb popped—fizzling as it crumbled to the bottom of the small translucent casing; full dark had returned to the mess hall.

Turning around, he made his way back outside, lighting a cigarette with a shaking hand as he stepped out into the frigid Siberian night. He smiled as he walked back to his quarters, fantasizing about the murders that he would commit. The wind whipped all around him as snow fell in thick sheets, swirling like diamond dust.

The storm had arrived.

Please subscribe to keep reading.