Tashya stared at the coded telegram, then at Gavril. “Black market? For *my* designs?” Her voice was flat, devoid of the outrage she usually reserved for genuine inconveniences. “I just wanted a nap, Gavril. A really long, uninterrupted nap. This sounds like the opposite of napping.” “It’s the thermal-core battery, Tashya,” Gavril pressed, his gaze intent. “The one essential for the Republic’s defense. The one I was sent to retrieve.” “And apparently, it’s also the one that will solve my chronic, medically inconvenient problem,” she muttered, a low cough rattling her chest. She pushed herself away from the table, a familiar prickle of cold seeping into her bones despite the roaring fire. “Fine. Let’s go talk to these black marketeers. After I put on a different outfit. And maybe take a nap.” Before she could even turn, a piercing shriek ripped through the cabin’s thick walls, followed by the distinctive, high-pitched warble of Niko, then Luda’s gleeful babbles. Tashya spun, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “Niko! Luda!” Gavril was already moving, his hand instinctively going for the heavy service pistol holstered at his hip. They burst through the kitchen, nearly colliding with a frantic Pip, who skittered out of the cellar doorway, chittering indignantly. The usually well-behaved marmot was agitated, its fluffy tail bristling. Then Tashya saw it. Tangled in a shimmering, emerald-green net of impossibly thick, thorny vines, a figure hung upside down from the cellar doorframe. The vines glowed with an ethereal light, pulsating as the man thrashed, his face mottled purple. He wore the coarse, dark tunic of a Brask family enforcer, his heavy boots dangling inches from the floor. Niko and Luda, perched on a stack of firewood, pointed at the suspended man and giggled, clapped their chubby hands. Gavril’s eyes narrowed. “My… security system,” Tashya mumbled, a sheepish flush rising on her pale cheeks. “For the greenhouse. I just… finished installing it this morning. Mostly. It’s still in beta.” She hadn't expected it to actually *work* this well, let alone catch a Brask. “Beta?” Gavril growled, holstering his pistol. “This brute attempted to enter your, what was it, ‘magical indoor garden’?” He stared at the glowing vines, which tightened perceptibly with each of the intruder’s struggles. “What *are* these?” “Genetically engineered ‘Frost-Bloom’ creepers,” Tashya explained, already moving toward the intruder. “They’re fast-growing, ridiculously strong, and apparently, possess a delightful sense of poetic justice for anyone aiming to steal my strawberries.” She poked the Brask’s flailing arm with a finger, testing the vine’s tension. “Amazing. They’re like living barbed wire. I should patent these.” “Please, get me down!” the spy choked, his face turning an even deeper shade of violet. “You… you witch! The Brasks will have your head!” “Oh, really?” Tashya retorted, her voice dripping with mock concern. “But then who would knit them their lovely woolen scarves? I’m quite busy, you know. I have a nap scheduled.” She eyed the man, her expression suddenly serious. “Why did you sneak into my cellar? What did you hope to find?” Before the man could respond, Gavril stepped forward. “Let’s get him down. He’s about to pass out.” “Just a moment,” Tashya said, holding up a hand. She turned to Pip. “Little terror, would you mind… extracting some information?” Pip, clearly understanding, chittered with delight, its tiny eyes gleaming. It scampered up the Brask spy’s leg, its claws digging in, then paused at his tunic pocket, sniffing. With a swift movement, it yanked out a crumpled paper. The spy shrieked again, not from pain, but from pure, unadulterated terror as Pip's fangs snapped menacingly close to his ear. “Fine! Fine!” the spy gasped, flailing an arm to bat at the marmot. “Uncle Brask is hoarding all the briquettes! He’s cornering the market! He wants everyone to freeze, so they *have* to buy from him!” Tashya’s eyes narrowed. Hoarding coal in Vrostok was a death sentence for many. A deep, cold anger settled in her gut, eclipsing even her exhaustion. “So he plans to freeze Grivenka into submission, does he? Not on my watch.” She gave a curt nod to Gavril. “Alright, get him down. Send him to Krinsk. Let’s see how much Krinsk likes being frozen out.” As Gavril expertly disengaged the vine's mechanism and lowered the sputtering spy, Tashya felt a sudden, sharp pain in her chest, a familiar ice-cold burn that made her wince. She excused herself, heading for the tiny, unheated washroom, her breath catching with each step. Her frost-lung was truly acting up today. She pulled off her simple tunic, revealing the angry, purpling patches on her skin, raw and chapped from the constant cold. Her original body, already weak, was deteriorating faster than she could keep up. She rummaged through her small medical kit, pulling out a poultice of crushed snow-hemp and frost-root she’d concocted earlier. It was crude, but it would have to do. Just as she was about to press the icy paste onto her skin, the washroom door creaked open. Gavril stood there, his gaze sweeping over her exposed chest, then quickly flicking up to her face. Tashya froze, suddenly acutely aware of her scant undergarments, the vulnerability of her illness laid bare. A flush spread across her cheeks, a furious heat that battled the cold pain. “Tashya,” Gavril said, his voice surprisingly soft, his eyes laced with concern. “You’re… you’re worse.” He stepped in, gently closing the door behind him, filling the small space with his imposing presence. “What is that?” “Frost-lung,” she mumbled, averting her gaze. “And this is… a patch. To help.” She fumbled with the poultice, her hands shaking slightly. Her usual sarcastic shield felt utterly inadequate now. He reached out, his calloused fingers carefully taking the herbal paste from her. His calloused thumb grazed her collarbone, leaving a prickle of surprising heat. “Let me.” His voice was low, a quiet command. Before she could protest, he gently guided her to sit on the edge of the small wooden bench. His touch was feather-light, yet firm, as he carefully spread the cooling paste across the angry, red skin of her chest. Tashya held her breath, acutely aware of the warmth radiating from his body, so close to hers. The air in the tiny room grew heavy between them. “You’re shivering,” he observed, his thumb brushing lightly over her collarbone. “You need more than this, Tashya. This cabin is freezing.” She finally met his gaze, her own eyes wide and vulnerable. “I know. I’ll build a thermal grid. Self-sustaining. With a geothermal loop.” She swallowed hard. “For all of Grivenka, if I have to. No one freezes because of Brask’s greed.” Gavril nodded, his expression softening further. “I know you will.” He finished applying the poultice, then carefully covered it with a soft linen cloth. His fingers lingered for a moment longer than necessary. “You hide it well, Tashya. The stubbornness. The fierce protection. But I see it.” He pulled away, giving her space, but his eyes remained on hers. “Behind the sarcasm and the ‘laziness’… you’re burning, aren’t you? To protect what’s yours.” Tashya couldn’t form a coherent retort. He saw too much. It was unnerving. She pulled her tunic back on, feeling her breath drag thin in her ribcage against the day's weariness. “Gavril,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, “we need that battery. Fast.” He nodded, setting his mouth in a hard line. “I know. I’ll prepare for the meeting with the contact. We’ll get it.” Just as he finished speaking, a thunderous crash rattled the entire cabin. The front gate, newly repaired and sturdy, splintered inward, torn from its hinges. A frigid gust of wind swept through the living room, extinguishing the lamps. Three heavily armed figures in the dark, imposing uniforms of the Vrostok Republic’s Special Enforcement Division stood silhouetted in the doorway, their rifles leveled. The central figure, a man with a scarred face and eyes like chips of glacial ice, kicked a final piece of the shattered gate aside. “Major Gavril Dorn,” the Inspector’s voice boomed, sharp and cold as the subzero draft, “You are under arrest for high treason and the theft of Republic military property.”

Vines and Vulnerabilities