They were a golden brown, a little darker than Pasha’s had been. A sob tore from my chest, raw and loud. It was a sound born of remembrance and loss. For a moment, I could almost see his face. But as quickly as it had come, it slipped through my fingers, leaving me grasping at the shadows of my past.
Oh, Pasha. I miss you.Tears flowed down my face.
The man said he was taking us somewhere safe. I didn’t know if it was true, but I’d been trained not to argue, so with a heavy heart and a wary gaze, I followed him. Each step was like my life, a silent surrender to uncertainty.
From the same place that housed my stupidity, I begged him not to leave Summer, Autumn, and Winter. I didn’t trust my own instincts anymore. They always got me into trouble, but on the off chance his words were real, and his promise of safety was true, I had to take the chance.
Maybe in some small way, this was my time to do something good for them, to show them I wasn’t always bad. He didn’t bat an eye at my request and didn’t erupt into a rage.
He simply gave me his hand, and that was when a flicker of movement caught my eye. Glancing over my shoulder, I winced at the pain of the stretching skin. The other girls trailed behind us, their figures flanked by men in dark clothing.
There was a sense of unity in their formation, like an ensemble of dancers ready to perform on stage. It struck me then that they were a team, just like we were. They moved with a sense of purpose, their steps synchronized.
The man halted me, and fear bloomed in my chest once more. He extended his arms toward my body. A wave of confusion washed over me like a sudden downpour on a summer day.
“May I carry you? I’ll be careful of your back,” he asked.
His words tumbled out sounding familiar yet foreign, the syllables rolling off his tongue in a melodic cadence that stirred me. He was speaking Russian, his voice a jumble of sounds that were comforting and uncomfortable all at the same time. All I could do was stare at him, my mind a whirlwind of doubt, as I struggled to make sense of everything.
“Yes, Sir,” I answered in English.
I was only allowed to speak in Mandarin, French, and English. The only time I could use Russian was when the Mask said I had to, which wasn’t often. None of my fans were from Russia.
The girls and I all had to learn and speak the languages that our largest fanbase spoke. We were told that we’d be sold to a Master one day, and he would expect us to know his language.
His strong arms enveloped me, lifting me effortlessly off the ground. Pain radiated throughout my entire body as he hoisted me up. My heart pounded in my chest as I tried not to let it show.
He saw it anyway, and his jaw jerked. I stole a glance at him and couldn’t help but notice the sleek black radio clipped to his shoulder strap. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he murmured something into the device, his voice hushed and urgent.
The crackle of static filled the air, mingling with the faint hum of a response. I strained to catch a glimpse of his face, to read the expression, but it was too dim in the arena. I didn’t even know his name, not that it mattered.
A part of me wanted to ask, but I knew better than to interrupt. Master or Sir would be what he would want me to call him in the end, anyway. Down the long corridor we went, then up the narrow stairs that led outside. It didn’t take us long to get there. The night air was cool on my skin, and I shivered. It had been a long time since I’d been outside at night.
“Mischa—”
“Spring,” I yelled, looking around.
It hurt to breathe. Was this a trap? Were the Mask and the Collector going to come out any minute? Was this another test I’d fail?
The lesson I learned a few days ago because I’d used my real name still hurt.
“Sorry, Spring. I know your back hurts, but we need to cover you up better.”
He was being gentle—something I hadn’t known in so long. The unfamiliar kindness set me on edge, and I darted my gaze to where the other girls were climbing into a car.
He set me down and pulled his long-sleeve shirt off. He removed the jacket, though his eyes stayed on my face. I didn’t want him to see my naked body, but I knew better than to hide it. Thankfully, he covered me with his shirt.
It was softer than the jacket, but my stupid tutu was sticking out in the middle. My stomach rolled, and my skin itched like bugs were crawling on me. I needed to get the tutu off.
Frantically, I tore at it from under his shirt, which was like a long dress. It came free, and even though it hurt badly, I stomped it into the ground with my ballet slippers. Pushing it down into the soft mud, I let out a scream, and something broke inside me.
Winter pushed away from the man who was trying to help her into the car. Rushing to my side, she stood next to me, and her pinkie grabbed mine firmly. The gesture was calming. Her brilliant green eyes met mine, and she nodded, her bright-red curls bouncing. No words were spoken. We didn’t need them, anyway.
I knew she was saying it was going to be okay. She pulled me by my pinkie, led me to the car, and waited for me to get in. There was space between Autumn and Summer. And even though there were only three seat belts in the car, the four of us fit perfectly.
Winter took her place next to Autumn, and almost in unison, we all bowed our heads and clasped our hands in our laps. The car began moving, and I’d like to say that I was happy.
But I’d learned not to hope for things. Only time would tell if this was going to be a better situation for us. As long as we were together, we’d be okay.