The metal latch screeched so sharply that Inna almost recoiled — the sound stabbed straight into her teeth. The door slammed shut, cutting off the thin, dirty strip of light from the corridor.
— Throw her in with the repeat offenders! — laughed the prison warden, Colonel Mayorov, somewhere beyond the thick steel door. His heavy footsteps slowly faded. — Let her sit with her “clients” until morning. By breakfast, all that nonsense about heroism will be gone from her head!
Inna leaned her back against the rough, oil-painted wall. The air in cell number eight was heavy and suffocating. It smelled of sour bread, sweaty clothes, and strong tobacco that had seeped into the very concrete.
The single lightbulb on the ceiling buzzed like a trapped, angry swarm of bees.
On the iron bunk beds, shadows slowly stirred.
— Look at that, boys, the management sent us a babysitter — rasped a thin, wiry man from the top bunk, his tattooed arm hanging down. — What’s wrong, officer lady, why are you shaking?
Inna straightened. Her uniform clung damply to her back.
Her radio and pepper spray had been taken at the entrance when Mayorov decided to punish the new employee for refusing to turn a blind eye to stolen food supplies.
— Everyone stay where you are, — she said in a calm, trained voice.
From the lower bunk near the window, a tall figure slowly rose. A man in his fifties, with short grey hair, deep lines in his face, and tightly pressed lips. He wore the standard black prison uniform, but carried it as if it were armor rather than state-issued clothing.
— Shut up, Siply, — he said quietly, and the thin man immediately shrank back.
The man stepped closer. His gaze — tired yet sharp — studied Inna as if searching for a flaw. Stepan Korshunov. The unofficial leader of the block.
The man because of whom Inna had changed her name, moved to this freezing northern settlement, and put on the hated uniform.
— Mayorov doesn’t just throw people into cages for no reason, — Stepan said. His voice was hoarse, worn down. — What did you do to him?
— I refused to sign fake canned meat delivery documents, — Inna replied, holding his gaze.
Stepan smirked. There was so much exhaustion in that smile that, for a moment, Inna almost felt sorry for him.
— Principled… Fine. Sit here until morning. By then you’ll write your resignation and go back to your mother’s warm soup. People like you don’t last long here.
He turned to leave. Inna felt it: if he walked away now, she would not get another chance.
— October twelfth. Evening. The old bypass road behind the sawmill, — she whispered quickly. — It was pouring rain. You were driving a timber truck. A small wooden bear hung from your rearview mirror.
Stepan froze.
The air seemed to solidify.
— You got out with a flashlight, — Inna continued, stepping closer. — A man was lying on the road. A black car hit him… and didn’t even slow down. But you saw the license plate. And who was behind the wheel.
Stepan slowly turned around. His face turned to stone.
— I saw nothing, — he cut her off. — And I advise you not to talk about this.
— That man was my father, — Inna swallowed the lump in her throat. — Ilya Nikolaevich. An accountant. He found missing funds at the factory and documents about shell companies. He was going to the prosecutor’s office.
Stepan looked at her for a long time.
Outside, the wind howled, shaking the power lines.
— An accountant… — he muttered. — When I got to him… he was already in bad shape. He grabbed my jacket. He asked me to look after his daughter, Ira.
— On paper I’m Irina, — she nodded. — Inna is just a home name.
Stepan slowly sat down on the edge of his bunk. He took out a crumpled matchbox, turned it in his fingers, then put it away.
— The man in the black car was Anton Mayorov, — he said finally, hollowly. — The warden’s son. He was completely drunk. The headlights lit up his face.
He looked at his hands — stained with ingrained oil and grime, the memory of years behind the wheel.
— I went to the police. I believed in the law. Two days later they came to my house. They trashed everything, scared my wife. In my toolbox they found something I had never seen in my life.
Mayorov himself came. He said: if I spoke in court, my wife would be charged too. And she was sick… badly. She didn’t survive. After that, I had nothing left to fear.
Inna sat down beside him.
— I don’t either, Stepan. I’ve been digging for ten years. Missing records, covered-up reports. But now I have a contact in internal security. If you officially confirm—
— Words aren’t evidence, — he interrupted. — Especially not from a convict. They won’t take us to testify. And tomorrow they’ll fire you.
— They won’t.
Inna pulled a small black voice recorder from her uniform pocket.
— This records everything.
Stepan stared at it for a long time. Then he slowly took it.
The night passed in uneasy half-sleep. At dawn, the lock screeched.
— Move, — the guard grunted. — The colonel is calling you.
Mayorov’s office was lined with dark wood. The air smelled of expensive cologne and power. He sat comfortably in his chair, playing with a heavy fountain pen.
— So, did you enjoy your “stay”? — he smirked.
— Surprisingly honest people down there, — Inna replied.
The smile vanished.
He threw a folder onto the desk.
— You’re an interesting one. We checked you. You changed your name. Took your stepfather’s surname.
He stood up.
— Ilya Savelyev… your father. Is that why you came here? Playing detective?
Inna tensed.
— I came for justice.
Mayorov laughed.
— Justice? I am justice here.
Then suddenly his expression hardened.
— Sign your resignation. And forget this place.
— You’re too late, — Inna said quietly.
She placed an empty recorder case on his desk.
— The recording is already sent.
A moment later, a roar echoed near the gate. Black vehicles broke through. Armed operatives jumped out.
Mayorov went pale.
The door burst open.
— Colonel Mayorov. Internal Security. You are under arrest.
A month later, the damp soil of the cemetery still held the cold of winter.
Inna placed two carnations on the grave.
— I did it, Dad.
Footsteps behind her.
Stepan stood there. A free man now. The investigation had uncovered everything.
— He was a good man, — he said.
— What about you now?
— I’m working. Starting over.
Silence.
Then quietly, Inna said:
— Me too.
The wind moved through the trees.
And for the first time in a long time… it didn’t hurt.
