The eager way.
I don’t let it.
“I need to make calls,” he says. “Come into the main room. I want you close while I work.”
“Yes, sir.”
The words come out flat. Correct. Clean.
I see the moment he hears the difference.
His gaze tightens. A small movement at the corner of his mouth. His eyes search my face like he’s looking for the bruise he caused and can’t find.
He says my name again, slower.
“Maksim.”
“Sir?”
“Is something wrong?”
The question almost makes me laugh. Not because it’s funny.
Because it’s too late.
“No, sir,” I say. “Nothing is wrong.”
He keeps looking, like he doesn’t believe the answer.
“You seem… different.”
“I’m here,” I say. “I’m doing my job.”
The words land hard between us. I see something shift in his expression—frustration, maybe, or surprise, or something he doesn’t want to show.
He turns toward the main room.
“Now.”
“Yes, sir.”
I follow him.
I keep the distance I’m supposed to keep. Close enough to move if someone comes through the elevator. Far enough that I can see the whole space. My steps fall into rhythm behind his without thought. That old synchronization.
I used to mistake it for connection.
Now it just feels like training showing itself.
The main room is bright with morning light. The glass makes the city look sharp and cold, like it could cut you if you pressed a palm to it.
Ivan moves to his chair by the window. I take my position by the door.
He starts making calls.
Lieutenants. Captains. Men who answer his voice the way I do. He gives instructions about Boris, about the restaurant, about tightening routes and shifting coverage. His tone is calm and controlled, the voice of a man used to shaping the world by speaking.
Including the part of the world that is me.
