Date: 2009-01-05 10:48 pm (UTC)
"Major Liadov."

Anya spoke with a clear tone, firm, in spite of her racing pulse.

She stepped forward to lay her hand on the Major's arm. There was a taut strength to the muscle under her fingertips, and a tension that vibrated like a power line, feeling almost dangerous to the touch. She closed her fingers as tightly as she dared.

"Please, Major. It's Anya."

She paused, biting her lip. Major Liadov's face was contorted into a grimace, one of both sharp rage and dull pain. In contrast, Major Isaev looked both stricken and compelled.

Anya leaned toward Major Liadov, trying to get him to meet her eyes, pale and tender green with compassion.

"Please let him go. Please, don't do this."
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