Anya sat at the table. On her laptop screen, the VeraCrypt interface glowed—a program some IT guy she knew had once recommended for storing sensitive work files. Now it was her only ally.
She was creating a 500-megabyte container.
First password (outer): Error2023.
Second password (hidden): F_R_E_E_D_O_M
[Note: “False Bottom” encryption principle]
VeraCrypt could create an encrypted container—a file that looked like ordinary system junk, but, once opened, worked like an ordinary drive. The main trick was the hidden volume. You set two passwords:
A decoy password that opened the outer layer, where you could keep harmless files as cover.
The real password that opened a concealed area inside the same file.
There was no mathematical way to prove the hidden volume existed. Even with a gun to your head, you could give up the first password, and the aggressor would see the files and believe they’d gotten everything.
She was just finishing copying the files when she heard a key turning upstairs.
She didn’t snap the laptop shut—that would’ve looked suspicious. Instead, she left a document open titled “Anya’s Diary.docx”.
Viktor came downstairs. He was carrying a tray with dinner, but his eyes went straight to the screen.
“You’re writing?” he asked, setting the food on the edge of the table and leaning over her shoulder.
Anya smiled softly and shifted a little, making it easier for him to read.
“Yes. It… it helps. You have to get your thoughts out.”
He narrowed his eyes, reading the text on the screen.
“That day Viktor brought me tulips. They were so bright against the grey walls. I started to understand what he meant by ‘silence.’ There really wasn’t any of that constant rush here…”
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He straightened, and smug satisfaction lit up his face.
“That’s very… sincere, Anya.”
“I’m just writing what I feel,” she said. “I used to think I lived in chaos. But here… here there’s a system.”
She closed the document. Viktor’s gaze slid warily to the VeraCrypt icon in the system tray.
“What’s that icon?”
“Oh, that’s an old encryption program,” she said calmly, not even blinking. “I keep my old diaries in there, and photos of me with my ex. I don’t want them popping up in front of me, but I can’t bring myself to delete them either—it’s still part of my life. I put a password on it so I wouldn’t open it again by accident.”
His ego purred. She was locking away the “past” so it wouldn’t interfere with the “present.”
“Good. The past should stay under lock and key. The important thing is what you’re writing now.”
He ran a hand through her hair.
“Can I look at the other files?”
“Of course.” She offered him the laptop with icy composure. “Look at whatever you want. It’s just my old work spreadsheets and that diary.”
Viktor took the laptop and flipped through the folders. He saw “Anya’s Diary.” He saw vacation photos. He opened VeraCrypt and saw the encrypted container on the list, waiting for a password.
“So what’s the password for that thing with your ex’s photos?”
“Error2023—capital E,” she said, looking him straight in the eye.
Viktor typed it in. The container opened. Inside was a folder called “Old” with a couple dozen boring photos from Turkey and some old poems. The outer volume—nothing in it that mattered.
“Nothing interesting,” he muttered, handing the laptop back, completely at ease.
“Yeah. Exactly,” she agreed, taking it.
The moment Viktor left and the lock clicked, Anya opened VeraCrypt again.
She entered the second password.
F_R_E_E_D_O_M
The screen blinked, and the hidden volume opened. Inside was a file: “Analysis_V.txt.”
Observation #1: He’s right-handed, but when he carries a heavy tray, he always opens the door with his left hand. That means the keys are in his left pocket.
Observation #2: From 2:00 p.m. to 3:00 p.m., it’s often quiet upstairs. Most likely he goes to the store or out on errands.
Observation #3: The vent grille has no visible screws and sits flush. I found a metal ruler in the drawer—if the grille can be removed at all, it’s probably only by slipping something thin under the edge and prying it up.
Observation #4: There are construction materials in the basement, but they’re not weapons. Tearing the packaging would be loud, and it would leave traces. The powder would rise as dust—it would hit me first. And most importantly, it wouldn’t stop him. I don’t need a fight. I need an opening.
Observation #5: My goal is to survive, to escape, to get out of here. And with every single thing I do, I have to remember that.
Anya closed the hidden volume.
A barely-there smile played at the corner of her mouth. She’d just obtained the highest level of clearance.
Viktor had checked her laptop and decided she was completely under his control. He’d confirmed her hiding place was safe himself.