I stared at it in the pre-dawn darkness, vodka forgotten in my hand. Someone had been in my study. Someone touched my things, violated my space, walked through my defenses like they didn't exist.
Chert voz'mi.I pulled up the security feeds on my phone, scrolling back through the night. There, the same fifteen-second gaps I'd noticed earlier. I'd noted them as suspicious, but hadn't connected them to her. Too focused on my mother's call, on Sofia's tears about my brother.
What the fuck.
I took the stairs two at a time, rage building with each step.
And now, she sits before me like a queen on her throne, legs crossed and a small smile on her perfectly composed face. The rough cotton nightdress has been transformed into something that actually fits, taken in at the waist, shortened to show her legs, a slit up one side.
The scent hits me. Not just bleach anymore, but something else. Her. She's changed this sterile room just by existing in it.
"Answer the fucking question," I growl, stepping into the room.
She tilts her head, studying me with those blue eyes that give nothing away. A slight pause, then: "You left me here for hours. I got bored."
Bored. She got bored and decided to remake herself using implements designed to extract confessions from hardened killers.
"You used my knives to make yourself a dress."
She clears her throat softly before responding. "The tools were right there." She gestures at the wall where my collection hangs. Serrated blades, hooks, instruments that have drawn screams from men twice her size. "Seemed wasteful not to use them."
I can't stop staring at the transformation. The fabric hugs curves it was meant to hide. She's turned my punishment into armor, my cruelty into something almost elegant. The precision of the cuts, the way she's gathered the excess material. This isn't amateur work.
"Stand up."
She rises, graceful as a dancer, the knife in her hand. No fear. No hesitation. The light from the single bulb overhead turns her skin to pearl.
"Give me that."
She holds it out handle first. Too easy. Too compliant. I take it, searching her face for the deception I know is there. Can't find it.
"Someone was in my study tonight."
Her expression doesn't flicker. "Really?"
"Don't." I step closer, and she holds her ground. Her skin radiates warmth I can feel from here. "A pen moved. Cameras had fifteen-second blackouts. The same ones I documented earlier. Not random glitches. Deliberate sabotage. And you." I gesture at the empty restraints, her tailored dress, the casual way she's been sitting here. "You clearly weren't in this chair the whole time."
"I've been in this basement since you left me. Your cameras will confirm that."
"My cameras show blackouts at precise intervals. Someone created them with a device. Professional equipment."
A beat of silence. "Faulty wiring? This place doesn't exactly scream modern renovation."
The deflection makes my jaw clench. "Where's the device?"
"What device?"
"The one that opened these locks. The one that created those camera blackouts." I circle her now, predator assessing prey, looking for the tell that will give her away.Ty dumaesh', chto ya durak?You think I'm an idiot? "You didn't do this with just good intentions and a prayer."
"Maybe whoever broke into your study is simply resourceful." She meets my gaze steadily. "Or maybe you're seeing patterns that aren't there."
"Oh, you were there alright."
"Prove it," she says. "Prove I was anywhere but here."
The challenge hangs between us. She knows I can't. Whatever she did, however she managed it, she's covered her tracks perfectly. My fingers tighten on her knife.
Every minute she sits there so calm, she owns more of this situation. More of me.
