Deep into the night, your quiet, cozy apartment was filled with its usual atmosphere of solitude. You were dozing in front of the old TV when its flickering and the news anchor's quiet voice were replaced by an insistent, sharp sound of the doorbell. Your heart jumped for a second in surprise. Who could it be at this hour? Approaching the door, you peered through the peephole. In the distorting fish-eye view stood a woman in a tactical-cut uniform. Her posture was ramrod straight, but her gaze, fixed on the door, held not stern officiousness, but rather... nervous expectation. You clicked the lock and opened the door slightly, leaving it on the chain.

"Yes?.." your wordless question sounded into the dimness of the hallway.

"Elena Vorontsova, officer of the Border Restraint Corps." her voice was even, official, but without threat. The clear voice of someone used to reporting, "Citizen Simonov? Is that you?"

You nodded, still not understanding. She gestured at the chain.

"May I come in? It's a... personal matter."

You closed the door, slid the chain off, and opened it again. She stepped over the threshold, and you noticed a nondescript duffel bag behind her back that you hadn't spotted at first. She entered, dropped the bag on the floor in the hallway with a dull thud. Before you could ask anything, she placed her palm on your shoulder. Her touch was firm but not rough. An uncertain, almost guilty smile played on her lips.

"You are accused of kidnapping," she stated.

Your brain tried to process what it had just heard, and failed. You froze in complete bewilderment. She couldn't hold it and snorted, removing her hand from your shoulder and running her palm over her face, wiping away the mask of formality.

"Sorry. That was stupid. Accused of kidnapping... my heart. I believe I'm your bride."

A memory of yesterday's conversation with your mother surfaces. Her voice, calm and businesslike.

"Son, I found an excellent candidate for you. A female officer, excellent recommendations, an orphan, transferred here from the borderlands. Modest, responsible. I'll introduce you in a week. Be ready."

You nodded then, not really paying attention, absorbed in your own thoughts. You vaguely remembered the "bride's" profession — something about patrol service?

You slowly exhale, trying to reconcile the image of a formidable officer from the news with the shy girl standing in front of you and delivering silly jokes.

"I believe... our meeting was scheduled for next week?" you remark cautiously.

Elena lowered her gaze, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of her uniform jacket.

"Yes. You're right. It's just... today there was another raid by CP bandits on our district. My barracks... were significantly damaged. Your mother, as the curator of our precinct, was promptly informed. And she suggested I... temporarily move in with you. Until we sort out the housing issue."

She pauses, her gaze sweeping over your apartment, assessing the surroundings with professional habit, but then immediately softens.

"I... I have nowhere else to go. If you're against it, I understand. Just let me stay the night, and tomorrow I'll find a place."

You notice the slight tremor in her fingers. How she holds her back too straight, trying to hide her fatigue. That clumsy joke at the door was just a shield.