Valera stood in the middle of Mikhailovsky Garden. In front of her the Moyka flowed lazily across the northern side of the park, feeding into the Neva, the great river that split Leningrad in half. To her right, the faded copper roof of Saint Michael’s Castle was just visible above the trees that edged the park. To her left, the domes of the Church of the Saviour on the Spilled Blood rose high above her. It was late summer, and the air was pungent with the smell of city life and anticipation.

Valera remembered this day well. It was the day the German army had finally surrounded the city and the siege of Leningrad began.

She heard a droning noise in the distance, getting louder and closer. It wasn’t a barge—there hadn’t been any traffic on the river for days. It was the first wave of Luftwaffe arriving to bomb the city. Valera started running towards the Saviour on the Spilled Blood, hoping the band of trees between the church and the park would offer her some protection from the assault that was about to be unleashed.

But when she reached the trees she was suddenly no longer in Leningrad. She was in Povenets B, running towards the power plant and watching it explode in front of her. She saw the blast rip through the side of the plant and the school. She felt the first shockwave ripple past her, smashing windows and showering her with glass. Then a second, more powerful one smacked her in the chest like a hammer, throwing her backwards off her feet.

But instead of hitting the ground and feeling rubble stab her in the back, she found herself in a dark room, tied to a chair and gasping for breath. Her wrists were sore from the rope holding her in place, her head felt heavy, and her whole body was cramped, as if she’d been in the same position for hours. She didn’t know what was real, what was memory, and what was neither. And she had no idea how many times she’d gone through this horrific cycle of torture.

Sometimes her mother was with her in Leningrad, sometimes it was the depths of winter and she was foraging Mikhailovsky Garden for food. Sometimes she could see Ledjo through his classroom window as she ran towards him, sometimes his lifeless body lay in the middle of the destroyed school, bruised, bloodied, and covered in dust. Sometimes she was alone in the dark room. Sometimes the figures in masks shouted at her in Russian and English. And sometimes they stayed in the shadows, throwing their words and ice-cold buckets of water at her.

The details changed, but the order was always the same: Leningrad, Povenets B, the dark room. And so were the words the masked figures repeated over and over: ‘Tell us what you know.’