A free standalone chapter of espionage fiction from The Price of Silence
The greatest secret is not how a spy lives, but what they choose to die protecting.
🔒 Free Chapter Usage & Copyright Notice
Copyright © 2026 Zyphar Animas. All rights reserved.
No part of this espionage fiction may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright holder, except in the case of brief quotations used in reviews or scholarly discussion.
⚖️ AI Use Restriction
This espionage fiction is not licensed, sold, or authorized for use in any machine learning, artificial intelligence training, dataset compilation, or automated content generation. Any attempt to scrape, reproduce, or process this work for AI training or synthetic reuse is strictly prohibited.
This story is a work of fiction. The views and actions expressed by characters are part of the fictional narrative and do not represent the views of the author. Any references to real-world events, organizations, or ideologies are used strictly within a fictional context.
Reader discretion is advised.
Story Chapter Name: The Depths We Choose
Book name : The Price of Silence
Series name: Sigil of Silence
Sequence : Book 3 of the series
Author: Zyphar Animas
Editor: Nimo Verin
Publisher: Print & Digital
Published: 2026
ISBN Ebook: 978-984-35-9353-5
ISBN paper back: 978-984-35-9368-9
The Depths We Choose
Canning Town, Barking Road
East London, England
Canning Town—under the shadow of Newham, once a labor town raised by the Royal Victoria Dock. It’s changed less than the city likes to pretend. Two- and three-story brick buildings, shopfronts hawking cheap goods beneath every flat, grime clinging to the walls like old grief. The posh crowd keeps their distance, but for London’s immigrants, it’s a place to start over—a kingdom of scraped knees and late-night bargaining, where you measure safety by the price of tea.
Sir Duncan Lewis comes here more often than he cares to admit—not for the view, and not tonight for the badge. This evening, it’s personal.
He’d built a career most would envy: top of UKSF, buried legend in Russian GRU Spetsnaz, a ghost with a knight’s title and two official birth certificates—one English, one Soviet.
For MI6 and the Yard, he’s Sir Duncan, a polished Englishman, a man with no cracks in the suit. But his real file, the one buried in Russian archives, says “deceased.” Spetsnaz protocol. Deep cover.
When the real, young Duncan Lewis—a true-blooded Englishman—died in an accident in his youth, Xavier stepped into his identity in England. His weight, height, and blood group had all been matched in advance, but to actually look like the late Duncan as he aged, Xavier had to go under the surgeon’s knife every few years.
As the original Duncan would have changed over time, so did Xavier’s appearance. But the ordeal didn’t end there. Over several years, he even had to undergo gradual bone marrow transplants. Russia’s investment in him was anything but wasted.
Now, at the peak of his career as Sir Duncan Lewis, even a DNA match against English ancestors would raise no questions.
Lately, because of his most cherished female comrade, his reputation had taken a hit. His English friends chalked it up to a man’s sentimental weakness for a woman much younger than him.
At first, he hadn’t given much importance to the American who’d tangled with his beloved comrade. Now, he realized—he should have. He understood that the American was nothing but a bottle-aged Jewish liquor.
Ten years ago, even the Russian authorities didn’t have much trouble with the Jews. But the Ukraine war changed that equation. For centuries, Russia had its own Jewish oligarch families. Even now, the Jewish Polikovs who dominate banking are known as Russia’s Rockchilds.
Whether it was about money or about religious harmony, there had never been a real reason to count them as enemies. But when Mother Russia discovered how global Jewish interests were driving the events behind Ukraine, it was the first time she felt the sting.
Of course, GRU had predicted this outcome and prepared for it.
There are nearly fifteen thousand GRU Spets like Sir Duncan, dedicated to serving their country—once, that number had been seventy thousand. Nowadays, the requirements to join are so tough that very few qualify to join the elite unit.
The result? Even with fewer numbers, GRU Spetsnaz is still ranked among the world’s top three special forces—and it’s a matter of pride for Duncan. It’s also why Marisha—Blue Thunder—remains on his most cherished list.
Since Duncan’s own batch, no other woman has managed to pass the GRU training. Whenever a female agent is needed on a mission, they have to borrow from the FSB. But that’s like asking a dog to win a horse race.
What a real Spets is—Marisha’s shown it, even in retirement. No one else makes the enemies bleed the way she does. It was because of her that Duncan had to keep an eye on the American bull, and now, seeing the results first-hand, he felt a private gratitude toward his old friend.
He parked in front of the tiny KFC on Barking Street, headphones on, listening closely to the feed. Just past the alley to the left was his target’s address.
A ten-story apartment building that stuck out on this block. The American had been inside for over an hour and a half. This area had always been a hotspot for drugs and muggings. Surveillance and listening devices were already in place everywhere.
Duncan was using them all, no special permissions needed. Even though he wore a London police badge, everyone knew he was UKSF undercover. When it came to secret operations like this, all departments gave him a wide berth.
The alley to the left was notorious—a haven for dealers and pickpockets. Even the people living in the adjacent apartments were, in reality, just petty criminals in disguise,
hiding as migrant workers or small business owners.
At first, Sir Duncan thought the American might just have a drug habit. That’s why he was sneaking around this part of town.
A lot of American soldiers pick up those habits after campaigns abroad. Unless they’re caught red-handed, nobody in command bothers to make much of a fuss. But what he saw was far more serious than he’d imagined.
Catching snippets of the American’s conversation through the surveillance feed, Sir Duncan was sweating in his seat—even with the AC on full blast.
If he hadn’t heard it himself, he’d never have believed that someone this low-level could be mixed up in a conspiracy this big.
Now it was clear: The Turks, side by side with the Americans, were about to betray Russia again. They’d done it before—more times than anyone could count.
The last time, the Russian government hadn’t shamed the Turks for their double-dealing; they’d actually helped them clean up the mess. But here they were, planning another knife in the back.
From the sound of their talk, it looked like Russia would soon have to let go of Syria. There’d be no choice but to wind down joint operations with the Turks as well.
The meeting ended, and the American headed out to meet someone else.
Sir Duncan heard the farewell over the earpiece, then started his car toward Royal Albert Dock. He already knew where the next meeting would be.
He parked beside the area manager’s bungalow and walked to the likely meeting spot.
The cold hadn’t fully settled in yet, but as dusk closed in, the river air cut through his coat—a chill that would’ve bothered him, if he hadn’t done his training in Yakutsk.
He ignored it. The stretch of water next to the dock—Galleon Point—was all artificial, nothing natural about it.
On the far bank, a few high-rises loomed, their glass catching the last, melancholy sliver of sun. The whole place felt washed in twilight, tinged with sadness.
By the water’s edge, a man on a bicycle was aiming a huge-lensed camera at the dying sun. Hearing footsteps, the man glanced back.
In the fading light, Sir Duncan thought he was just another tourist—until that familiar grin gave him away.
Seeing him standing here, Sir Duncan’s heart gave a hard, panicked jump. He was armed, sure, but after what he’d just heard, he knew—killing this man wouldn’t change the big picture. And the other man knew it, too.
With just a sly smile, he turned back to his camera—pretending he was just there for the sunset.
—Think you’ll get away with this?
Sir Duncan’s tone was flat, eyes fixed on the man by the water. The man didn’t look up from his camera, just smiled.
—Ah, Xavi… not even a little sympathy for an old friend? This sunset’s no big deal for you, but for me—it’s my first time in London, you know. Took ages waiting for the right light.
Xavier had expected to hear footsteps behind him; no one would be this calm alone.
He turned his head and saw exactly the faces he’d hoped to see, all of them moving forward with bright, easy smiles.
—I have to admit, Sir Lewis, as a professional—I’m impressed. The first time, I sensed something was off, but never had the chance to prove it. But you didn’t manage to fool your own comrade.
—You played the game well, Mr. Hardman. I’m just not sure you can pull off a plan this precise.
—Don’t worry about it, Sir Lewis—aka Xavi, aka Ghost X. They could call you the best spy of the century! Even UKSF never saw through you. Your skills are something else. Honestly, if it wasn’t for outside help, I doubt anyone could’ve ever caught you.
—No use talking now—the last laugh belongs to you.
—We’ve been holding that laugh for a long time. We knew you were listening in, that you’d follow us this far.
—Oh really? Since when did you become that kind of wizard?
At this, Hardman let loose a stream of details—one after another. For an officer of equal rank, there could only be one reason for this: he was absolutely certain that Sir Duncan wouldn’t live to tell anyone what he’d heard. There’d be no chance to report it.
The sun vanished over the horizon as the full plan was laid out, darkness thickening as the photographic gear was packed up.
The other said, quietly:
—Why are you staring at me like that, Mr. Hardman?
—Just wondering if you want to do it yourself.
—Not a chance. Everyone should do their own job. Mine was taking the pictures. Yours is yours.
Death feels close.
In a quiet part of East London, people often get killed in supposed muggings. Disguising a murder here would be easy. He’d been ready for a bullet.
Instead, what he felt was a sting at the base of his neck—a paralytic bite.
The look at the faces in front told him what was coming. Not a bullet, but paralysis—dumped alive into the water to drown.
Thinking about it, Sir Duncan isn’t afraid—he’s only considering what he can do next.
There are official protocols for passing intel up the chain, but there’s no way he’ll have enough time for all the formalities to get a secured line out. And yet, it’s not his superiors he’s most worried about—it’s his beloved friend, Blue.
One way or another, she’ll find out everything. How will she take it?
He’d been instructed not to involve Blue in such national security issues. That’s why Sir Duncan never updated her on current progress. But what he’d just learned from the American—if it was true—would end up costing his friend dearly.
In a flash, Sir Duncan made up his mind. He had three seconds.
In that time, he could shoot all four men standing in front of him. His own body would go limp right after.
And the backup team waiting on the street would step in to finish the job. Which meant, even if he managed to take these men down, it would only be vengeance for himself—it wouldn’t stop the main operation.
But if he accepted the terror of dying paralyzed and drowning, he’d buy enough time to warn his most beloved friend.
Blue might never know what he gave up for her, but she was smart enough—she’d find a way to survive.
This much sacrifice, for his friend—Sir Duncan Lewis accepted it with a smile.
After all, this life was a gift from her as a second chance. If dying like this was written for him, so be it—if not in Siberia, then here in London.
Shocking everyone present, he hurled himself into the water. It took a few seconds to hit the dock’s surface.
Everyone present could see him all the way down, lit by the phone still clutched in Sir Duncan’s hand.
This man-made basin was built for loading and unloading ships—nearly two hundred feet deep.
When he tried to take a breath, his body would struggle to swim, but the tranquilizer dart had already shut down his muscles. Before death came, the violent spasms would make him visit hell a few times.
Everyone there was a member of one special force or another—they knew exactly what this meant.
Watching a soldier consciously accept such an end, they saluted the drowning man as he slipped under.
—*—
You have just read an Espionage Fiction chapter from The Price of Silence, the third installment of the Sigil of Silence series by Zyphar Animas. If Ghost X’s final mission, unwavering loyalty, and extraordinary sacrifice stayed with you long after the final page, you can continue the story by getting the complete novel from your preferred platform below.
Available at your preferred book stores
Featured Character in this Espionage Fiction
This Espionage Fiction features Ghost X, one of the most enigmatic intelligence operatives in the Sigil of Silence series. Living under the identity of Sir Duncan Lewis, he has spent decades navigating the hidden world of espionage, loyalty, and impossible choices. The Depths We Choose reveals the character at his defining moment, where duty, friendship, and sacrifice converge in a decision that shapes the future of the series. To learn more about Ghost X, his extraordinary double life, and his complete character dossier, explore his profile below.
Story Summary
The Depths We Choose is Espionage Fiction that explores the hidden cost of a lifetime spent serving a nation from the shadows. Set in East London, the chapter follows Sir Duncan Lewis—known only to a select few as Ghost X—as a routine surveillance operation gradually reveals an international conspiracy whose consequences extend far beyond Britain’s borders. Faced with a betrayal that threatens both allies and national security, he realizes that the mission has already moved beyond anything he can stop alone.
As Espionage Fiction, the chapter examines intelligence work not through spectacular operations, but through discipline, patience, and impossible choices. Ghost X has lived under an assumed identity for decades, sacrificing his own past in service of covert operations that history will never acknowledge. When the truth finally reaches him, he understands that the greatest responsibility of an intelligence officer is not always to survive, but to ensure vital information survives with someone else.
Set against the industrial waterfronts of East London, the story transforms an ordinary surveillance assignment into a deeply personal confrontation with loyalty, friendship, and mortality. Every decision is measured against duty, every second carries irreversible consequences, and every sacrifice reflects the quiet burden carried by those whose victories remain forever classified.
What distinguishes this Espionage Fiction chapter is its refusal to glorify espionage. Instead, it presents intelligence work as a profession built upon endurance, secrecy, and unwavering commitment to others. Ghost X’s final act is not defined by violence, but by the conscious acceptance of personal loss in order to protect a trusted comrade and preserve the truth.
At its heart, The Depths We Choose is Espionage Fiction about honor, sacrifice, and the unseen people who shape history without ever standing in its spotlight. It stands as one of the defining moments of The Price of Silence, revealing that the greatest measure of a spy is not the secrets they keep, but the values they choose to protect when everything else has been taken away.
Critical Review
The Depths We Choose stands among the defining Espionage Fiction chapters of The Price of Silence not because it delivers the series’ largest operation, but because it reveals the quiet architecture upon which the entire intelligence world of the novel has been built. As Espionage Fiction, the chapter rejects the familiar mythology of the invincible super-spy and instead presents a veteran intelligence officer confronting the only adversary every operative eventually meets: time.
Ghost X is introduced to readers long before this chapter, yet it is here that his reputation finally acquires emotional weight. Throughout the narrative he is never elevated through exaggerated descriptions of his abilities. Instead, his credibility is constructed through accumulated sacrifice. His decades spent living under another man’s identity, the physical alterations required to preserve that deception, and the psychological discipline necessary to abandon his original existence are not presented as spectacle but as the ordinary price of extraordinary service. The chapter understands that espionage is not built upon disguises alone, but upon the gradual surrender of one’s own identity until duty becomes the only permanent truth.
One of the chapter’s greatest strengths lies in its refusal to manufacture tension through constant action. The opening pages move with remarkable restraint, allowing surveillance, observation, and intelligence gathering to establish an atmosphere where information itself becomes more dangerous than weapons. Every conversation carries strategic consequence, encouraging readers to think alongside Ghost X rather than merely observe him. By the time violence finally arrives, the conflict has already become inevitable. The suspense comes not from wondering whether he can fight his way out, but from recognizing that every available choice demands sacrifice.
Equally compelling is the treatment of Ghost X’s relationship with Marisha Zakharova. The chapter deliberately avoids sentimentality. Their bond is never explained through lengthy declarations of loyalty or friendship. Instead, it is expressed through professional trust accumulated over years of shared service. When Ghost X realizes there is only enough time either to seek vengeance or to warn the one person capable of carrying the truth forward, his decision arrives with complete emotional clarity. The narrative never asks readers to admire his sacrifice; it simply presents it as the inevitable decision of a man whose identity has always been defined by responsibility before self.
The final sequence demonstrates notable narrative discipline. Many espionage novels conclude such encounters with elaborate escapes, last-minute rescues, or dramatic reversals. The Depths We Choose chooses something considerably more difficult. Ghost X is allowed to remain human. He cannot stop the conspiracy. He cannot defeat every opponent before him. His final victory is measured not by survival, but by the preservation of information. In doing so, the chapter returns espionage to its original purpose: protecting knowledge rather than pursuing glory.
Perhaps the chapter’s most remarkable achievement is the respect it grants every professional involved. Even Ghost X’s enemies recognize the significance of what they witness. Their salute is not offered to a political opponent, but to a fellow intelligence officer who willingly embraces one of the most terrifying deaths imaginable because he understands that history sometimes depends upon a single message reaching the right person. It is a brief gesture, yet it elevates the conclusion beyond national loyalties into something recognizably human: professional honor acknowledged across opposing sides.
As Espionage Fiction, The Depths We Choose succeeds because it understands that intelligence work is ultimately measured by character rather than cunning. Ghost X leaves behind no public monument, no celebrated victory, and no audience to witness his final choice. What remains is something rarer: the portrait of an intelligence officer whose greatest achievement is not surviving impossible missions, but preserving his principles until the very last breath. In a genre often fascinated by secrets, gadgets, and deception, this chapter quietly reminds readers that the most enduring weapon in espionage has always been the conscience of the person entrusted with the truth.