RUSSIA, 1992
RUSSIA, 1992
“Natalia.”
The sharpness of the voice sliced through the quiet hum of the ballet studio, forcing the young girl to freeze mid-movement. Her muscles, already straining from the long hours of training, protested at the abrupt stop. Her heart skipped a beat, the familiar coldness of the voice sending a ripple of unease through her. She knew exactly who it was. Madame B. The instructor who commanded not just the room, but the very air around her. A tall, imposing figure with perfectly coiled white-blonde hair twisted into an unyielding updo and a posture so rigid it almost seemed unnatural. To anyone who didn’t know better, Madame B would appear to be the epitome of grace and elegance. But to Natalia, and the other girls who had been under her tutelage, Madame B represented something far more chilling: authority. The kind that crushed every ounce of resistance without uttering a single word.
Many of the other girls had whispered behind Madame B’s back—calling her cruel, calculating, even terrifying—but to Natalia, those whispers only confirmed what she already knew. Madame B was a force to be reckoned with, and that force demanded nothing less than perfection.
Standing on one leg in relevé, Natalia’s muscles quivered with the effort, a delicate tremble that threatened to betray her. Her dark red hair, hastily pulled back into a bun, slipped free in messy strands, a stark contrast to the polished precision that Madame B always carried. The tangled curls clung to her face like a shroud of imperfection. Natalia’s heart pounded in her chest as she waited, sensing the impending reprimand. She could already feel the sting of Madame B’s icy gaze, sweeping over her like a hawk sizing up its prey. She knew better than to show up looking anything less than flawless. This morning, however, had not been one of those days. The usual meticulous routine had been thrown off, and Natalia found herself in a rare moment of vulnerability—something that would not go unnoticed in the world of training.
To her surprise, instead of the expected reprimand, Madame B merely gave her a brief, clinical glance. It was not a look of anger or disdain, but one of detached appraisal, like inspecting a small defect that didn’t warrant much attention. Natalia held her breath, waiting for the words that would follow, but none came.
With a sharp, almost imperceptible nod, Madame B gestured for her to follow. The command was clear—no explanation, no questioning. Just the silent expectation that Natalia would obey without hesitation.
Curiosity flickered in Natalia’s chest as she quickly fell in step behind the woman, her footsteps hesitant but swift. She tried to mask the unease gnawing at her insides, but it was impossible to ignore. She had learned over the years that when Madame B pulled her out of class, it was never for a good reason. There was always something hidden beneath the surface, something important that required her attention, but not always in a way that was favorable.
As they walked down the long, sterile hallway of the training facility, the clicking sound of Madame B’s heels echoed off the cold, tiled floor, the rhythmic sound punctuating the silence and heightening Natalia’s sense of dread. The hallway stretched out endlessly before them, and with each step, the growing feeling of unease took hold of her. This was not a casual walk. Something was happening. Something was changing.
She tried not to show her confusion, but her mind raced with questions. The other girls in the studio had already resumed their practice, none of them sparing a second thought for her. They were used to these sudden, unexplained interruptions—after all, it was just part of the drill. But to Natalia, the lack of concern from her peers felt strangely isolating. They weren’t her friends—not after what had happened to Katya and Evgenia.
The memory of the fight still lingered in the back of her mind. Katya and Evgenia were best friends since anyone could remember. Katya had been forced to fight Evgenia in the training facility, a battle that had ended in bloodshed. Evgenia had won, but at a heavy cost. Katya’s death had left an indelible scar on the entire group. Evgenia, devastated by the loss, had disappeared soon after, her departure shrouded in mystery. Some of the girls had probably been relieved—Evgenia had been a threat, and everyone knew it. But for Natalia, it had meant the end of any semblance of camaraderie. There were no real friendships here, no alliances. The only thing that mattered was survival.
Her mind returned to the present as she and Madame B reached the door of General Dreykov’s office. The large, imposing wooden door loomed in front of them, a silent barrier to whatever lay beyond. Madame B knocked with practiced precision, her hand steady and purposeful, as if she had done this a hundred times before. The sound echoed softly in the quiet corridor, reverberating like a warning.
A voice from inside, deep and gravelly, called for them to enter.
As the door swung open, Natalia stepped into the room, her posture straight, her face carefully neutral. The room was heavy with the air of power—thick with the weight of authority. General Dreykov sat behind a massive wooden desk, his eyes cold and calculating, as they always were. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze never wavered from Natalia as she stepped forward. He was a man who seemed to measure everything with the precision of a predator, always calculating, always thinking two steps ahead.
Seated across from Dreykov were two others, their eyes flicking toward Natalia as soon as she entered. One was a woman—older, perhaps in her mid-thirties, dressed in an elegant but somber outfit. Her face was hard to read, but Natalia could sense the weight of her gaze, sweeping over her like a silent assessment. It wasn’t warm, nor was it dismissive. It was clinical, like she was taking in every detail of Natalia’s appearance, as if deciding whether or not she measured up to some standard.
The man beside her was unmistakable—the Red Guardian. A living legend in his own right. Natalia had heard the whispers about him—about his brutal strength, his ability to tear through enemies with a speed and ferocity that few could match. He was one of the Soviet Union’s most formidable operatives, a living testament to the might of the Red Room’s training. His reputation preceded him, and Natalia had seen him in passing a few times, but this was different. This was not a chance encounter. This was serious. He was here for a reason, and she was about to find out why.
The two of them studied her with the same calculating gaze, appraising her as if she were a piece of machinery to be inspected. But Natalia stood still, her face composed, her posture straight. She refused to let her nerves show, as she knew better than to display any weakness. Her years of training had instilled in her the discipline to remain unfazed, no matter the circumstances.
Despite the pressure, Natalia couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being sized up, tested. She had always been a rival to the other girls in the program—better at ballet, better at combat, better at everything that mattered. But now, standing in the presence of these two seasoned agents, she felt the weight of expectation pressing down on her. Why had Madame B chosen her? Why had Dreykov called her here?
She didn’t like Dreykov. There was something unsettling about him—his eyes too sharp, his smile too predatory. He had a way of making you feel like a tool, a pawn to be used for whatever purpose suited him. Natalia would have much preferred Madame B to remain by her side. At least she understood the rules of this game, even if she played it with an iron fist.
But now, there was no turning back.
"Ah, Natalia, come," General Dreykov's voice was smooth, almost patronizing as he waved her over.
The young girl, Natalia, stood frozen for a moment, the weight of his words settling in. She had been working tirelessly under Madame B’s exacting gaze, her body aching from hours of practice, but now all of it seemed to fade into the background. Dreykov, as always, was a figure of cold authority, his beady eyes watching her like a hawk.
“She is the top of her class and of the perfect age for the mission,” he continued, almost as if explaining her worth to the others in the room. He didn't look directly at her, his eyes more focused on the two figures sitting across from his desk—Melina and Alexei, two legendary Soviet operatives who had worked together on numerous high-profile missions. "You may go prepare for the mission; it leaves in two hours. I will brief Natalia."
As Dreykov spoke, the two agents stood without a word, their expressions unreadable, and left the room, leaving Natalia standing alone in front of the imposing figure of Dreykov. The door clicked shut behind them, and for a moment, she stood still, processing what she had just heard.
Usually, widows in training wouldn’t even be considered for missions until they were around thirteen years old, and that was if they were exceptionally skilled. It was practically unheard of for someone as young as her, not even eight yet, to be selected for such a task. Despite her years of rigorous training in ballet, combat, and espionage, she couldn’t mask the flicker of confusion and surprise that crossed her face. But there was no time to waste on questions. The truth of the matter was simple: she had been chosen.
Dreykov’s gaze remained fixed on her, as though expecting her to speak or react, but she did not. Instead, she stood at attention, her military discipline kicking in. She would not show weakness or uncertainty, not even a hint of it.
“So,” Dreykov’s voice broke the silence, snapping her back to the present, “I assume you are wondering why you are going on this mission. Yes?”
Natalia nodded once, slowly. She had been wondering that very thing. Why her? What did they expect of her?
“We are placing a family undercover,” Dreykov continued, his tone clinical. “And I believe this experience will do you good. You will be positioned as one of Melina and Alexei’s daughters, blending in with civilian life.” He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Your teachers have recommended you for the position. They believe you are the most capable.”
The words were heavy, laden with both praise and expectation. Being assigned to work with Melina and Alexei—two of the most respected agents in the Soviet network—was no small honor. Natalia had heard their names whispered in the halls, always in reverence. They were legends, and now she would be expected to carry out a mission alongside them.
"You will continue your ballet and combat training in private while you are there," Dreykov added, as though it were a casual afterthought. “You will keep up the appearance of a normal child, but under the surface, you are still a weapon. Your training will never stop. You will receive the rest of the information in your file. Now, go to your dorm. A widow will be there to assist you in your preparations.”
As Dreykov’s words washed over her, Natalia’s mind began to process everything. This mission was different from any training exercise she had been through. She would be living a life that wasn’t truly hers. The family she would be joining was fabricated—a cover for the real mission. She would be expected to blend in and assume the role of a normal girl, and yet, underneath that mask, she had to remain vigilant, sharp, and ready for whatever came her way.
She nodded sharply, her body moving almost mechanically as she left the room. The door closed behind her, and she was met by the silent presence of a widow who had been waiting for her outside.
The widow, another graduate of the Red Room program, said nothing as she motioned for Natalia to follow her. The silence was not uncomfortable, but it was filled with a certain weight—a weight of shared understanding. The widow led her to a small, sterile room where Natalia was instructed to sit in front of a mirror. Without a word, the widow began the process of transforming her appearance.
They dyed her hair a dull brownish-red, making it look more natural and less conspicuous, far from the vibrant red that had defined her identity up until now. The color change was subtle but necessary, a tool to help her blend into her new life. As the widow worked meticulously, braiding Natalia’s hair into a neat French braid, the young girl found herself staring into the mirror, watching the transformation take place. For a moment, she barely recognized the reflection staring back at her.
The widow didn’t speak, but her hands were steady and practiced as they moved with efficiency. Another widow, who had been silently packing a bag in the corner, now stepped forward to finish preparing her. She handed Natalia a set of clothes: a simple purple tank top, a thick, yellow sweater, and a pair of jeans—plain clothes for a girl who would need to appear ordinary, a far cry from the combat gear and ballet attire she was used to.
As she slipped into the clothes, she felt a strange sensation, as though she were shedding her old self, a version of her that no longer existed.
Once dressed, Natalia’s new appearance was finalized with a doll, an incongruous object that seemed out of place in her life of deadly training. It was a doll like the one in the Snow White film they had watched with the other girls in the Red Room. The widow placed the doll carefully in Natalia’s bag, along with a coloring book labeled Disney Princesses, an odd, childish touch that felt entirely foreign to her. It was a life she had never known, but it was the life she would now be expected to lead, at least for a while.
In the stillness of the room, as the final preparations were made, Natalia remained silent. There was little room for questioning in her world; action spoke louder than words. She had learned this lesson long ago, and now she was being thrust into a new role—a daughter in a fabricated family, playing the part of a normal child while her true mission lay hidden beneath the surface.
The widow handed her the completed bag, and with a final glance, motioned for Natalia to follow. Together, they walked down the sterile hallway, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the empty space as they made their way to the waiting car.
Natalia’s heart pounded with anticipation. She had never been on a mission quite like this before, and the stakes felt higher than ever. She was being entrusted with the task of blending in, becoming someone she wasn’t, all while keeping her true purpose buried deep within. But she would do it—she would live this life of lies for as long as it took.
As they reached the car, Natalia felt a strange sense of detachment. She knew who she was, but in this moment, she had to forget. She was no longer Natalia Romanova. She was Nat, the little girl who was going to live a new life in America, and she would play the part flawlessly.
Natalia was ushered into the waiting car, a sleek black sedan with tinted windows. Inside, Melina and Alexei were already sitting in the backseat, waiting for her. They both greeted her with smiles that were warm, almost fatherly and motherly, but Natalia was keenly aware of the performance she now had to give. Her heart thudded heavily in her chest, and a small knot of unease twisted in her stomach. This was it—she was leaving the world she had known, the only world that had shaped her, for an entirely new one. A world that would never know who she truly was.
Melina’s smile was calm, reassuring, and Alexei’s expression was more relaxed, though his eyes still held the ever-present sharpness of someone always on guard. He was already speaking to her, asking her about her well-being in a voice that was deeper and rougher, but still filled with a softness that made her feel like a child again—something she could barely remember being. It felt like a part she was supposed to play, like a script she had memorized.
Natalia settled into the seat beside them, clutching a small doll in her hand, a doll that she had no attachment to. The doll, an odd relic from some Disney Princess world, was part of the identity she had to adopt now. Everything about her was new, her hair, her clothes, her name—but this small piece of childhood, this simple object, was a reminder that she was playing a role. A girl who wasn’t real.
The car drove steadily through the streets of Moscow as she stared out the window, feeling disconnected from the familiar city. It wasn’t her city anymore. It hadn’t been her city for a long time. The glistening, snow-covered streets were like a distant memory, something she had to shed, like the skin of a snake, and move on.
As the car navigated the familiar roads, Dreykov had continued his conversation with Melina in the front. Their voices were quiet, too low for Natalia to hear clearly, but she could catch the occasional word, the rise and fall of their tones. It wasn’t difficult to guess the content of their discussion: mission details, instructions, the steps that had to be taken next. Dreykov had spoken so easily of her involvement with the family they were being placed with, the family they would pose as, yet Natalia’s mind was racing. She was going to become this family. She was going to live their life, for however long it took.
Then, as if to underscore his earlier statement, Dreykov passed her a thick folder across the seat. Natalia’s fingers brushed against the cool, hard edges of the file, her stomach tightening as she took it.
The title page caught her attention immediately, the name printed in bold letters at the top: ROMANOVA, NATALIA ALIANOVNA. She had seen it a thousand times before, the official designation of who she had been. The file felt heavy in her hands, but it was the second page that held all the details that would shape her future. She flipped it open with a practiced motion and absorbed the information quickly, her mind a steel trap for the details she needed to memorize.
The new identity presented to her was as foreign as the world she was now stepping into. The name “Nicole ‘Nat’ Rowley” stood stark on the page, and she immediately noted that her age had been bumped up to 9 instead of the 7 years she was in reality. It was a simple lie, a fabrication, but it was now her reality. Her life, her true identity, was gone—erased by a new name, a new age, and an entirely different backstory.
The backstory read like a typical cover story for a family looking to blend in with their new life in America: her “father’s job” had moved them to the States, where she would attend East Elementary School in Mount Vernon, Ohio. She would even take ballet lessons. Her life was now that of an average 9-year-old girl, nothing extraordinary. Nothing that would raise suspicion.
Natalia studied the file carefully, her sharp eyes taking in every detail. She had been trained to memorize things like this since she could walk—who she was supposed to be, what she was supposed to believe, and how to stay hidden in plain sight. This mission, however, was different. She wasn’t just a ghost in the shadows; she was going to become someone real, someone who could be loved, cherished, and seen as nothing more than a little girl. The thought made her stomach churn, but there was no choice. This was what had been assigned to her, and she would carry it out as flawlessly as she had done every mission before.
When the car finally arrived at the airport, the feeling of unease settled deeper in her chest. Melina and Alexei continued their conversation in the front seat, speaking in quiet voices, but Natalia couldn’t focus on the words anymore. She could hear the hum of the airport in the distance, the voices of travelers and the rustling of bags, but her world felt strangely small, isolated. She could already hear the ticking of the clock in her mind—every second that passed was another second closer to starting this mission. And every second made her feel more out of control, like she was about to step into a life she couldn’t escape.
Melina seemed to notice the quiet tension in the air as they got out of the car. She glanced back at Natalia, her expression soft, yet filled with understanding. There was no need for words; it was clear Natalia was deep in thought, processing everything that had just been thrust upon her. Alexei gave her a brief, encouraging nod, but Natalia saw the same sharpness in his eyes that she had always seen. Even though they were now “family,” they were also still agents, still soldiers in this vast, cold game.
They made their way through the airport, the buzz of travelers and the crisp, sterile air mingling together. Natalia could hear her heart thudding in her chest as they approached the gate, where a small group of other agents was waiting. Everything felt unreal, like she was moving through a dream, a nightmare, but she couldn’t wake up from it.
As they boarded the plane, Melina and Alexei remained close to her, answering her questions in kind, playing the part of parents as they navigated the airport with ease. They spoke of the new country they were about to enter, about the adventures and excitement that awaited them. To any outsider, they were just a family, but Natalia knew better. This was a cover, a lie, a role she had to slip into with no room for error.
The plane began to taxi down the runway, and as it lifted off into the sky, Natalia stared out of the window, her face pressed against the cool glass. The familiar skyline of Moscow shrank behind her, fading into the distance. She was leaving everything she had known, everything that had shaped her—her name, her history, her training—and becoming someone else.
As she watched the city disappear below her, she couldn’t help but think of the life she was leaving behind, the name she had abandoned. Natalia Romanova was no more. She was now Nat Rowley, a girl who would live in America, a girl who would pretend to be normal, even as the mission loomed ahead. She didn’t know how long this life would last or what it would take from her, but she knew this much: failure wasn’t an option. She had a role to play, and she would play it well.
For now, her true self was buried deep within, hidden beneath the surface of this new, fabricated life. She was no longer Natalia. She was Nat. And that was the only truth she could hold on to for the time being.