Which means someone is recruiting. Building. Using a symbol that should be buried with the bones of everyone who wore it.
We spent hours after the body was removed, the three of us in Maksim's office, trying to piece together what this means. Came up with more questions than answers.
The only thing we agreed on: upgrade security. Double the guards. Watch the perimeter. And keep Victoria close.
Not that we told her any of this. No need to alarm her yet. Let her go about her life as usual while we tighten the net around her without her noticing.
Which means someone needs to be near her whenever possible.
I volunteered.
Not just for security. Though that's what I told my brothers.
The truth is simpler and more complicated: I like being near her. Like the way she moves through the world with that particular combination of elegance and defiance. Like how she makes me laugh without trying, how she sees through my bullshit but plays along anyway.
Speaking of which, by now she should be up on the observation deck, doing what I've started calling her sun greeting. That ritual she performs every morning like she's conducting a private ceremony with daylight.
I leave my coffee on the counter and head upstairs.
The observation deck glows with early light. Gold filters through glass walls, turning everything warm and luminous. The river below catches the sun and throws it back in silver fragments.
And there she is.
Victoria stands in the center of the space, arms stretched overhead, face tilted toward the light.
I will never get tired of seeing her like this.
Magnificent. Celebrating the beginning of a new day like it's a gift instead of a given.
I understand that instinct. There were times when I was small and cold, sleeping in Moscow streets bundled against my brother, when all I had was the belief that a new day would start and with it a world of possibilities. When survival meant making it to sunrise and hoping the next twenty-four hours would be kinder than the last.
My hand lifts to my eyebrow, fingers tracing the small scar that bisects it. A remembrance of a day when I thought I might not live to see another morning.
We made it anyway.
Almost like sensing my presence, Victoria turns. Sees me standing in the doorway.
An instant smile illuminates her face, and just like that, the dark thoughts scatter.
"Morning,solnyshko," I say, letting my grin sharpen. "Communing with your celestial overlords again?"
She laughs, the sound bright and unguarded. "Someone has to greet the day properly. You heathens just stumble out of bed demanding coffee."
"Coffee is sacred," I protest, moving into the space. "A proper religious experience."
"You're ridiculous."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
She rolls her eyes, but she's still smiling. Her cheeks carry a flush that might be from the sun or from me. I hope it's from me.
"What are you doing today?" I ask, casual as I can manage when what I really want is to know every detail, every plan, every moment of her day so I can insert myself into as many of them as possible.
A flicker crosses her face. Caution, maybe. Or calculation.
"Pilates," she says, voice deliberately vague. "Then probably lunch. The usual."
The usual. Except her usual has a tight geographic radius that doesn't quite make sense for someone with her resources and social connections. And the way she's being evasive now only makes me more curious.
