⧗ CHAPTER SEVENTEEN ⧗

He still saw her in his dreams.

"The queen is the only one allowed, and often even capable, of laying eggs within the hive. Only a few of the eggs have potential to be the next queen, based entirely on their diet."

Dmitri couldn't shake the image that had woken him up that morning. Not even the recorded entomology lecture could distract him — played over their chemistry class, a parallel lesson structure used in multiple classes. Doing one thing while listening to another. Like studying Western media while memorizing the names and dates of notable, historical assassinations. Or the Red Room's tenets during firing practice. The names of various world leaders in a rotation of different languages, their jobs, homes, families, vices, and financial ties.

Usually it was enough. Dmitri could lose himself in the various lessons and mantras, zone out as his hands worked automatically, as his eyes drunk in one source of information while his ears absorbed another.

But not this time.

"Those chosen as a princess, so to speak, will be given royal jelly. Those destined to be workers, will be fed bee bread, a mixture of nectar and pollen."

This time Mia had come for him. Last night, standing over his bed. Her hands around his neck. Squeezing and squeezing as she kneeled on his chest, pressing the air out of his lungs, pinning him in place. Her superior strength, her enhanced physicality, he never stood a chance. It was only a matter of time before she found him again,

Dmitri couldn't move, couldn't even call out for help. Just looked up into those ghostly gray eyes staring soullessly back into his.

"Those given royal jelly will grow to become larger than the other bees, and when they are born, the princesses' will seek out and destroy other potential queens —"

Dmitri couldn't even be sure when she disappeared. His wrist shackled above his head, not even rolling out of bed was an option. He could only lay there and pray that morning would come soon.

"— from destroying the eggs, to killing other hatched princesses, until at last a virgin queen rises victorious to lead her hive."

And when those first rays of morning light had appeared — Mia vanished, vanishing like moonlight. Leaving Dmitri panting, sweating, gasping for breath. Sabina had seen his pallor and asked if he wanted to go to the infirmary. But he had only shook his head.

It had only been a nightmare.

"The male bee's only purpose is to mate with a queen bee. If successful, they will fall and die after copulation."

Dmitri couldn't remember what it was his hands were supposed to be doing. What chemicals they were hood above each workstation sucked in any potential fumes they may accidentally inhale; safety goggles to prevent any eye damage. But for the life of him Dmitri couldn't remember what it was they were doing. They had been discussing different hallucinogens and anesthesia earlier in class,like chloroform. Dmitri remembered laughing at the beginning of class, wasn't it a cliche? Only for Oksana to seriously inform him how toxic the chemical was and proper application could produce a clean and quiet death.

But this wasn't chloroform. These were liquids. With noxious fumes, but a poison meant to be consumed orally or injected. It didn't make sense.

Bleach, for instance. A jug of drain cleaner. A test to concoct helpful weapons with household materials. They might not always have access to guns or manufactured drugs — so it was key to know how to make their own. Chloroform, for better or worse, was an effective solution to an otherwise difficult problem.

And had Dmitri shut up and paid attention, he might have realized that wasn't what he had just made.

"In this manner they share similar traits to their spider brethren, particularly the Latrodectus mactans, or the black widow, where a male spider's sole role is to fertilize the female and fulfill his biological goal of procreation."

The half-face respirator weighed heavy on his head. One side felt a little heavier than the other, which was distracting. He kept listing to the side and having to right himself again.

By the time Dmitri realized something was wrong, it was too late.

"Though unlike the black widow spider, the queen bee has no desire to eat the fallen males."

The dizziness came on fast. Or perhaps it had already been there, slowly building until Dmitri could no longer ignore it. The sudden awareness made it worse.

He didn't realize he had dropped the vial in his hand until he heard the belated shatter — seconds after it already landed — and someone crying his name.

"This behavior is most seen in laboratory settings, where the male cannot escape — though perhaps they wait until the female has already eaten before mating, in the hopes of securing their own survival."

The floor rushed up to greet him, so fast, and yet so slow. Slow enough for Dmitri to think it won't be so bad. He won't land too hard. He'll be okay. He won't hurt himself.

He didn't even feel the impact.

"Most spider species are solitary creatures, ready to leave the nest when they have matured…"

It didn't hurt — at least, not in a way that Dmitri would qualify as pain. The sensation was dulled to the point that he might have landed on soft cushions. Even when his head cracked across the floor and the mask slipped from his face.

"The male spider may bring the female food to eat, not as a mere offering in animal courtship, but to ensure she is already full before copulation."

A forest of feet and legs surrounded him, all stomping a little too close for comfort to his face. Dmitri wanted to tell them to move away, but he couldn't really feel his tongue. The world spun as he tried and failed to get up. A hand on his shoulder, rolling him on his back. A face above his.

Mia.

"A particularly clever male spider can sense the chemicals on the female's web to sense if she's already eaten."

It was her. And not her. Too small, too slim. Something not right in the face. But it had to be her, who else could it be? She had been at his bedside just last night.

Her hands, small and warm, holding his head. To strangle him again? No, to smother him. Pressing something against his face. Dmitri recoiled instinctively, sucking in air in the hopes he could call for help. She was here. She was back. She was going to kill him. Again. Didn't they see the danger they were in?

And inhaled a breath of pure oxygen.

"Black widows are opportunistic cannibals, and may engage in sibling cannibalism as well, should a stronger widow need to feed on a smaller, weaker one for survival."

The sudden rush took him by surprise. The relief, the clarity, rushing to his brain in a single moment. But it wasn't so quick, so easy as that. She kept the oxygen mask pressed to his face, a voice instructing him to keep breathing, nice and slow.

"The silk a black widow spider can create has a tensile strength comparable to steel. If spider silk had the same density as steel, it would be six times as strong."

When at last Dmitri could breathe and think clearly again, he could finally sit up. Mia wasn't there anymore — just his sisters. Just Ksenia, who held the oxygen mask in one hand and the tank in the other.

And above them, looming like a gargoyle, was Comrade Zaitseva, ordering everyone back to their seats.

"Their venom, latrotoxin, is particularly harmful to large vertebrates. It can inflict severe muscle pain, abdominal cramps, hyperhidrosis, tachycardia, and muscle spasms."

Dmitri didn't even know if he could get back on his feet, but he tried. The room had changed completely from just a moment ago. Or had it been just a moment? The clock now showed a completely different time. What felt like two minutes had actually been thirty.

He swayed on his seat, gripping the table for support. It had been completely cleared of all tools and materials, to the point that he still couldn't remember what he had been doing.

He looked up at the hood, which was still turned on despite everything having come to a standstill. Even as Comrade Zaitseva went to turn it off, Dmitri had the sense something else was wrong. Hadn't they gone over safety protocols? Wasn't there supposed to be an alarm when fumes escaped?

But his brain was still swimming and Dmitri struggled to get his thoughts in order. Maybe he was wrong. The hoods looked old, maybe late 80's or early 90's in age, with typical soviet manufacturing levels — function over style. Maybe they didn't have alarms back then? Maybe it had already gone off and he just hadn't heard it. Or something.

"Though painful, a black widow's bite is rarely fatal to humans, and only bites when startled or threatened."

"What happened?" He finally managed to ask, as Comrade Zaitseva bent to pick up his fallen respirator. The other girls around him looked pale and stricken. All too aware of what happened the last time someone collapsed in this class.

"You inhaled your own toxic fumes," Zaitseva informed him. "Instead of making chloroform, you used bleach and ammonia to produce chlorine gas. Which had not been what I had assigned. And then, of course, you inhaled it. Which also should not have been possible had you been wearing your protective gear as designed — ah, here it is."

She cracked open one filter cartridge, then another. One side looked brand new, the other damaged. Comrade Zaitseva's tone was entirely flat as she announced, "Someone sabotaged your respirator."

Dmitri could only stare. Had that been meant for him? "I just picked the first one I saw from the cabinet."

"Indeed," the professor frowned, studying the filter. It appeared to have been cut with a small blade. "It seems someone has taken my lessons as an opportunity to hurt her sisters. The Madame will hear about this."

The class exchanged looks. Had it been one of them? Would they get blamed, even the innocent parties? And if it wasn't any of them, then who? Dmitri still felt ill, and this line of thought wasn't making him feel any better. "May I be excused? I need — air."

Air and space and time to think.

Madame Zaitseva just gave him a curt nod and Dmitri was already out of his seat before she had a chance to change her mind. In all reality, Dmitri should have been making a beeline straight for the infirmary, to make sure he hadn't really fucked himself up — but all he wanted was a window. An open window. Anything to defeat the sensation of the walls closing in around him.

The windows didn't open all the way — a security feature of the Red Room. Not to mention, it was the dead of winter and to allow below freezing temperatures into a temperature-controlled environment would cause all sorts of havoc.

But Dmitri didn't care.

Cold or no cold, he needed fresh air. And that was enough to find him out in the courtyard, nothing but a shirt on; his breath clouding in front of his face as moisture crystallized in the back of his throat. It was like a shot to the system, the immediate clarity it brought. Sweet, clean air. Dmitri slumped on a frozen bench, arms around himself to preserve his body heat. He had maybe ten minutes before he started showing symptoms of hypothermia.

His body's immediate reaction was a pleasant numbness, which would tide him over for the next minute or two. Long enough that he didn't notice the interloper approaching.

"So who is Mia?" Ksenia's voice breaks through his reverie. An unfortunate reminder that this really did just happen. Not just a nightmare.

Dmitri snapped his head around to look at her; Ksenia just stood there in the icy cold, looking down at him. For a second, he thought he detected anger — but that may just be her natural resting expression. Frigid and unforgiving.

And then her words — oh god. "How do you know that name?"

"It's what you called me," Ksenia raised an eyebrow. "In your drug-induced daze. And don't lie to me — I know she's not one of us. We've never had a sister called Mia."

Dmitri didn't want to answer, but something about the way Ksenia looked at him, the fact she was standing out here too, in the cold — and something to do with the way she may have possibly saved his life earlier — had him reconsidering.

"She's —" Dmitri started, then caught himself. What could he possibly say? There was no way to describe Mia Fletcher easily, succinctly, in a way for a stranger to understand just what he'd been going through moments ago. But Ksenia stared at him with those piercing blue eyes of hers, and Dmitri knew he couldn't escape the question. "She used to be my friend. From when I was… outside."

"Ah," Ksenia nodded slowly, her expression carefully guarded. He couldn't tell what she was thinking. "Do I look like her?"

Dmitri frowned, taking a moment to look Ksenia up and down, before ultimately shaking his head. "Not when I'm sober. You just — Mia had blonde hair, too. I guess that was enough."

To any sane person, had Ksenia and Mia stood side by side, there would be no mistaking one for the other. Ksenia, small and petite. Mia, tall and broad. A similar hair color was but a few superficial similarities they had — Dmitri felt utterly embarrassed to have confused the two. Even when high.

"Had?" Ksenia tilted her head like a bird of prey, judging distance. "Is she dead?"

"N-no," Dmitri stammered. "At least, I don't think so."

He couldn't imagine anything or anyone capable of that. Mia had been a force of nature unto herself. It was why she haunted his dreams at night. "We just — we parted on bad terms. She hurt me."

He had to resist the urge to reach for his shoulder. Just talking about Mia made the healed wound twinge painfully.

"I see," Ksenia said, and for a long moment it seemed the matter was settled. Until she added, "Is this Mia going to be a problem?"

"What?" Dmitri blinked at her.

"Is she going to be a problem?" Ksenia repeated, her words as cutting as the icy breeze buffeting them. "If she's the reason you almost got yourself killed, or these stupid nightmares you keep having, then it needs to end right now, before it gets one of us hurt, too."

"She's — no, she's not a problem," Dmitri's teeth were starting to chatter, but he grit them together. Of course Mia wouldn't be a problem. That was the reason he was here. "And she's not in my nightmares. Not that I'm having any."

"Oh, please, we can all tell," Ksenia rolled her eyes, arms folded across her chest. "You're not exactly quiet, Dmitri. If you need medication to get through it, fine, but I won't be sacrificing my sleep because your old girlfriend keeps you up at night."

Dmitri bristled, face growing hot — and nothing to do with the cold wind turning his cheeks red. "We weren't — you know what, don't worry about it. Next time, just let me die. That'd save you some trouble, right?"

Whatever Ksenia expected him to say, it wasn't that. She cut him a look, taking a half-step back. As if giving him a second appraisal. "This Mia hurt you pretty bad, didn't she?"

Dmitri didn't feel like deigning that with an answer. "It's none of your business what Mia did."

For a long moment they just glared at each other, the hissing wind picking up their hair and turning their skin to an icy red. Dmitri didn't know what he was waiting for. Only that his fingers were going numb, and Ksenia had to be feeling it, too. Unlike a certain person he knows, she wasn't a super soldier.

Ksenia broke the silence first.

"You better come inside, then," she said, with a jerk of her chin towards the entrance. "Before you freeze to death. I can save you from poison, but not from your own stupidity."

Then she turned on her heel and headed inside. Dmitri sat there, watching Ksenia leave.

Before rising to his feet, and following her.