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"Your Majesty?"

The voice came from Mikhailov, standing at attention near the door. The general\'s sharp military uniform and commanding presence did little to mask the weariness in his eyes. The strain of Ruthenia\'s internal struggles was taking its toll on even the most stalwart of men.

"Come here, Orlov," the Tsar said, motioning with the letter.

The general stepped forward, his boots clicking softly against the polished floor. "Your Majesty?"

Ivan handed him the telegram. "Read this and tell me what you make of it."

Mikhailov accepted the document and began scanning its contents. As he read, his jaw clenched. When he finished, he looked up at the Tsar with a grim expression. "Valoria is applying pressure, as expected. The masked leader knows this Krieg is important to them, which means he must be important to us as well."

"Indeed," Ivan said, leaning back in his chair. "But releasing him now, under Valoria\'s demands, would make us look weak. Our people are already questioning my authority. If we bow to a foreign power, we risk emboldening the revolutionaries even further."

Orlov nodded. "And yet, if Valoria\'s Supreme Leader has made this demand personally, he will not let the matter rest. Ignoring his warning could provoke retaliation."

The Tsar\'s lips pressed into a thin line. "Retaliation in what form? A public condemnation? Economic sanctions? Valoria cannot risk a military conflict while their attention is focused on spreading revolutionary ideology. They are using words because they know they cannot use force."

Orlov placed the telegram on the desk. "Even so, we should tread carefully. Krieg may be a journalist on the surface, but his activities suggest something far more deliberate. We should continue to hold him and extract as much information as possible before making any decision about his release."

Ivan drummed his fingers against the desk, his mind racing. "Do we have any updates from the state police regarding his interrogation?"

Orlov hesitated. "Preliminary reports suggest he has been resistant to questioning. He has not provided any useful information thus far. Inspector Damien believes he is highly trained in resisting interrogation techniques."

The Tsar frowned. "And what about the materials he was carrying? Did they yield anything of value?"

"Mostly innocuous items," Orlov replied. "Notebooks, maps, and some vague observations about Ruthenian society. Nothing overtly incriminating, but enough to suggest he was deeply embedded with the revolutionaries."

Ivan rose from his chair and walked to the window, staring out at the snow-covered grounds of the Winter Palace. His breath fogged the glass as he spoke, his tone measured.

"Valoria is testing us, Orlov. They want to see if we will crumble under their gaze. If we release this man now, it will be a signal to them—and to our own people—that Ruthenia is weak. We cannot afford that, not with the revolution already at our doorstep."

The general inclined his head. "Then your decision is to hold him?"

"For now," Ivan said firmly. "We will keep him under close guard and continue the interrogation. But inform the state police that I want no unnecessary cruelty. If Krieg is truly a journalist, we gain nothing from mistreating him. However, if he is a spy…"

The Tsar let the sentence hang in the air, turning back to face Orlov. "Increase security around the prison where he is being held. Valoria may attempt a covert operation to retrieve him. I want no vulnerabilities."

"Understood, Your Majesty," Orlov said. "I will see to it personally."

As the general left the room, Ivan returned to his desk, his thoughts still clouded by the weight of the decision. Holding Johannes Krieg was a gamble—a move that could either solidify Ruthenia\'s position or provoke a dangerous escalation.

The Tsar picked up the telegram one last time, his eyes lingering on the final lines. Valoria\'s Supreme Leader was not a man to be underestimated. But neither was Ivan.

December 20th, 1939 – Ruthenian State Police Facility, St. Petersburg

Johannes Krieg sat in the dimly lit cell, his wrists and ankles bound. The air was damp and cold, and the faint sound of distant footsteps echoed through the stone corridors. Despite the discomfort, his expression remained calm, his mind focused.

He knew Valoria would not abandon him. The Supreme Leader understood the stakes, and Johannes trusted that measures were already in motion to secure his release. But for now, his task was simple: endure.

The heavy door to his cell creaked open, and Inspector Damien entered, followed by a pair of guards. The inspector carried a folder under one arm, his fox-like smile as sharp as ever.

"Good morning, Mr. Krieg," Damien said smoothly. "I trust you\'ve had time to reflect on your situation."Nôv(el)B\\\\jnn

Johannes raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Damien chuckled, pulling a chair closer to the center of the room. "Still silent, I see. But no matter. We have time."

He opened the folder and produced a series of photographs—images of revolutionaries Johannes had worked with, including Sergei Volkov.

"You see, Mr. Krieg," Damien continued, his tone casual, "your friends are not as clever as they believe. We have been dismantling their networks, one by one. Soon, there will be no revolution for you to write about."

Johannes maintained his composure, refusing to take the bait.

Damien leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But you… you are different. You are not one of them. You are an outsider. And outsiders, Mr. Krieg, always have a price. Tell me, what is yours?"

Johannes met Damien\'s gaze, his voice steady. "I am a journalist. My only price is the truth."

The inspector\'s smile faded slightly, replaced by a flicker of irritation. He stood, gathering the photographs. "Then let us hope you reconsider before time runs out."

As the door slammed shut behind Damien, Johannes allowed himself a small, fleeting smile. His captors underestimated him. The revolution in Ruthenia was far from over, and Valoria\'s reach extended further than they realized.

The Tsar might choose to hold him, but Johannes Krieg was no ordinary prisoner. Time, he knew, was on his side.