prologue

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𓆩✪𓆪



June 6th 2006
Location: Russia

"Don't." He begged in his native language, his voice strong despite the emotion weighing down on his shoulders.

Rick Volkov was never a nervous man, he was calm, confident, a bit too cocky at times and overall never afraid of anything. At least before, before those dreaded eleven years ago, before he met her or had his daughter, before he had anything to live for.

He had dark emerald eyes and darker auburn hair that constantly fell across his forehead. He was a strongly built man, muscles hidden away beneath his clothes, large hands that had done many merciless things in the past, but other more mundane things, like simply making toast in the morning, or walking his dog.

Rick Volkov was never nervous, but right now, he was shitting himself.

The small one bulbed light hanging in the middle of the room was the only light coming in beside the slightly cracked door of the hallway, it reflected in his glossy eyes as he shuffled slightly closer to the imposter in his living room.

It was quiet, unlike the past few days, the house usually being filled with reruns of the cartoon Angelina Ballerina playing as the small girl would dance around the room with her father giggling away as the days passed.

But there were no giggles at this moment, and the man is kneeling there, not to be the same height as his daughter as they partake in a new game of find the monster, but to practically plead for their lives.

The cottage they were currently in was small, a two seater sofa and matching armchair with a wooden coffee table in the middle of the room resting atop a green rug.

The kitchen was attached to the living room a fridge with barely anything in it, a kettle and an oven was all that was there along with a table that held three chairs, two sets were placed down ready for their breakfast the next morning, a black and white bowl on either side of the table, along with an empty dogs bowl in the one empty spot opposite the chair that belonged to no one.

There were two doors, one that led to the bedroom where his daughter usually slept and another that led outside. It was still open, not forced, but open from where the stranger had entered.

How could he have been so stupid? He knew they'd find them, he knew that eventually they would catch up to them. He thought about going somewhere safer, maybe America where he had people who could help them, or even Norway where he spent many years hunting for his daughter before bringing her home.

That's what he got, for deciding to settle down after a year, he should've waited longer, should've gone further, somewhere smaller, somewhere they would never be able to reach them.

Or maybe somewhere bigger, with more faces, more people. It would be easier for them to blend in there.

But instead he settled for somewhere he knew, a place he felt at home in, the place that reminded him of her.

He was looking up at the man standing before him, glancing behind himself he checked he wasn't followed into the living room of the small cottage. "Please."

He tugged on his simple shirt cursing when he realised he forgot the weapons and they were still hidden somewhere within this house.

The man that stood before him did nothing, he simply stared down at him, the gun still held tightly in his right hand, the weight meaning nothing to him, simply just a part of him at this point.

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