Dmitry's heart stopped for a few seconds, and then picked up again in overtime. Reminding himself that it was too soon to panic, he turned back toward the door of the barn, hoping to see Anastasia walk back in.

When she didn't, he began to examine the barn door. The wood appeared undamaged, and there were no visible signs of struggle both inside the barn and outside. That was a good thing, he assured himself. That meant she had walked out on her own. But then his brain reminded him that someone could have forced her to walk out at gunpoint, and he nearly choked in his panic.

He rushed back outside the barn and began searching the ground for footprints, but truthfully he didn't know what to look for, as he had never been taught. He spotted what he thought might be footprints leading up to the abandoned house. He ran up to a window and pressed his nose against it and was disappointed when he didn't see her. Perhaps she was in another room, though, so he climbed through the broken window.

"Nastya?" he called, hoping anyone listening wouldn't recognize the nickname. "Nastya?" There was no answer. He walked almost silently through the house, calling out softly each time he passed a door.

After determining that she wasn't in the house anywhere, Dmitry was kicking himself as he climbed back out through the window. It was beginning to get dark, and he had wasted precious time with little to show for his efforts. Panic was beginning to set in, and he glanced around wildly trying to find a clue of where Anastasia had gone.

Maybe she had gone wandering into the forest. After being held captive for so long he could hardly blame her for wanting to explore, despite the danger. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was paying attention to him then stepped into the forest, calling for her softly still.

Deeper and deeper he wandered, hoping to stumble upon her at any moment. Once or twice he thought he saw what might have been a footprint, but in the fading light he couldn't find a trail to follow. After a while he began to question if he hadn't imagined them.

His brain was in overdrive, trying to understand what had happened. Had her absence been discovered? Had the Bolsheviks sent soldiers to hunt her down? He hoped not. He hadn't seen any soldiers searching building as he walked back to the barn, but then again, he had been distracted. The barn hadn't shown any signs of forced entry, but the image of Anastasia being led out at gunpoint forced its way back to his mind.

Or maybe she had left on her own but been discovered by herself. Yekaterinburg held few people who supported the Romanovs, and Dmitry imagined some would have expected a reward in exchange for an escaped princess.

Night had fallen, but Dmitry searched on. He knew it was well past curfew at that point, but he continued walking through the forest, calling out as often as he dared. He didn't think anyone would be patrolling the woods, but he wanted to be cautious just in case.

More than once he tripped, having not seen a dip in the ground. Many times, he just managed to avoid walking into a tree. The trees were denser, blocking out any light from the moon. He had never wandered this far into any woods before, let alone these woods. The hairs on the back of his neck kept standing up, and he would look around half expecting a soldier to be nearby, ready to arrest him.

He didn't know how long he had been searching when he was forced to give up, but it was pitch black and he knew he was going to have a hard time finding his way back to the barn. He continued to call Anastasia's nickname every so often, but the only reply was the rustling of leaves in the wind.

Maybe she had gone into the woods, but had been back at the barn for hours, he hoped. Perhaps she was waiting there, as worried for him as he was for her. He stumbled blindly through the trees, holding on to that last shred of hope. If she wasn't there….

If she wasn't there, he wouldn't be able to send her back into the Ipatiev House. She would remain free, perhaps, but Irina would be trapped. There would be no way for them to swap places again. And the longer Irina was in there, the more likely it was that someone would discover that Anastasia was missing. They would probably execute Irina. The family would be punished badly. Not that the Bolsheviks ever really waited for a reason to punish them, but this time they would have a really good reason. Dmitry imagined some of the house guards would be punished as well, for allowing her to escape in the first place. And there was no telling what they would do to Anastasia.

Dmitry broke through the trees and ran back to the barn, thankful for the darkness. The doors were still open. His stomach plummeted. Still, he continued to run until he was inside.

"Anastasia?" he called, but there was no response. She wasn't there.

Dmitry closed the doors of the barn and curled up on his bed, fighting the urge to punch something. He had succeeded in rescuing Anastasia only for her to go missing hours later. He had failed her. And he had failed Irina, who would be trapped. So many people would suffer for no good reason. Dmitry felt sick to his stomach. He tossed and turned all night, never settling into a real sleep. Each time he heard the slightest noise outside, he was instantly awake. But Anastasia never came through the doors. By the time the sun began to rise, Dmitry was exhausted down to his bones.

He waited for as long as he could, even checking the closest part of the woods. The early morning rays hit the dew at an angle that made the forest appear to glow the exact color of Anastasia's hair, which did nothing for Dmitry's frayed nerves. But ultimately he admitted to himself that it was pointless, and that it was time for him to confess to Sir Thomas.

He dragged his feet the entire way there. He knew exactly which look he would get from the older man, and he wanted to postpone it for as long as possible. Sir Thomas would probably lecture him, and he knew he deserved it, and more. Much more. And he would ensure it because he knew his selfishness would cause the suffering of too many innocent people.

All too soon, Dmitry arrived at the consulate. He took a moment to steel himself before entering, knowing it wouldn't be enough. The woman at the front desk wasn't there yet; it was still very early in the morning, though he didn't know the exact time. He walked down the hall to Sir Thomas' office anyway and knocked as steadily as he could manage.

When the door opened, Sir Thomas beckoned him inside, looking rather gray. Did he know already what Dmitry had to tell him? Was his face that transparent? Dmitry stood in front of him and bowed his head.

"Sir, there's something I need to confess," he began, but Sir Thomas held up a hand. He looked up, surprised. His stomach began churning when he realized just how grave Sir Thomas looked.

"It can wait, Dmitry," he said. "Sit down. Something happened last night. Something you need to know."