Ten feet. Five. Three.
I hit the door running. Slam through it with my shoulder. Spin on bare feet and throw the deadbolt just as Ramiz crashes against the other side.
The door holds. Reinforced steel. Built for this exact situation. Built because we knew. Because we've always known that women need places to be safe. Places men can't reach.
I collapse against it. Gasping. Shaking. My whole body trembling with adrenaline and terror and the crushing weight of everything that just happened.
Alive.
For now.
38
MAKSIM
The second bell sounds, distant and muffled through the walls of the lobby
I check my watch. Intermission ends in four minutes. The lobby has emptied, velvet and marble abandoned except for stragglers hurrying back to their seats.
The silence feels wrong. Too complete. Like the pause between movements when the audience holds its breath and the orchestra waits for the conductor's signal.
"We should return," I say. "Where's Victoria?"
Zakhar glances toward the corridor. "Saw her head out about ten minutes ago. Ladies' room, I assumed."
Ten minutes.
The calculation forms automatically. Women's restroom, second floor, west wing. Thirty seconds to walk there. Five to ten minutes inside. Thirty seconds back.
She's past maximum by three minutes and counting.
I drain the last of my vodka, setting the glass down with precise care. The liquor burns clean and cold, a familiar warmth I barely register.
"Alexei," I say. "Go check."
He moves without argument.
Three minutes until curtain.
I pour another measure of vodka into the glass, watching clear liquid catch the light. From here I can hear the orchestra tunes, discordant notes rising and falling like arguments searching for resolution.
Alexei returns. Alone.
His face tells me everything before he speaks.
"No one there," he says. "Checked every stall. Place is empty."
I set down the bottle. The glass between my thumb and forefinger, cool and fragile. One wrong move and it shatters.
"Zakhar, try Vitor."
He already has his phone out, pressing the screen. It rings once. Twice. Five times. No answer.
Zakhar ends the call without speaking. Our eyes meet.
Vitor was in charge of security protocol for tonight.
"Vitor doesn't miss calls," Zakhar says quietly.
