Silence.
I lean closer to the wood. "Professor Lev is dead, Spencer. He's dead. Whatever you think you're protecting by holding out, it won't save you when the people who killed him decide to come for you."
The door creaks open, just a sliver. Through the crack, I see a pale, sweaty face.
"Please," he whispers. "I want nothing to do with this. Just... go."
I try to peer through the crack. "Can we just come inside to talk? Just for a few—"
"No, no, no—"
Before he can finish his rejection, Ilay rounds the corner. In one swift, horrifying movement, his hand shoots out, gripping Spencer by the throat and lifting him off his feet. The door flies open under his strength, and Spencer dangles from his grasp, his legs kicking uselessly as he gasps for air.
My lips part in silent shock. The sheer power Ilay possesses to hoist a full-grown man like a ragdoll while looking bored is terrifyingly unreal.
Ilay looks around the interior, unimpressed. "Hmm. This place looks even more terrible than the inn."
I glance around, it truly isn’t much. A small room with two windows for ventilation. No furniture, just a coat rack next to the open door. There’s a door at the back probably leading to his bedroom or kitchen. He’s truly living for himself, but that’s no reason to insult his home. He really does have a broke-shaming habit.
"Please drop him," I say, stepping forward and placing a hand on Ilay's arm. "Please."
Ilay lets go. Spencer collapses to the floor with a loud, pained grunt.
"I'm so sorry, sir," I say quickly, kneeling beside him. "We didn't mean to do that. My friend here just... has a short fuse."
But Ilay isn't done. "With this shabby apartment," he sneers, glancing around in disgust, "where the hell do you expect us to sit? How do you invite guests in and not even have furniture?"
I shoot him a glare.Guests? You forced yourself in, you mad man.
Spencer scrambles up and darts off, returning moments later with two dusty wooden chairs. Ilay drops into it spreadingout his legs, from his posture you would think its his house, and I take the other.
"Sir," I start, keeping my voice steady. "You have documents that belong to my client. Sensitive papers regarding financial transactions with Professor Lev. If those documents fall into the wrong hands, people get hurt. We just want to finalize the inheritance."
Still, he says nothing.
Ilay tilts his head, his voice dropping to a cold, predatory pitch. "Why is he quiet?” He says in russian,
His gaze sharpens and he says this time in English. "Is he thinking about the dead professor? Do you want to join him?"
I turn, but Ilay isn't looking at me. His eyes are fixed on Spencer, the predator surfacing clear as day.
"I can arrange that," he adds softly, almost kindly. "Then maybe you two can sit in hell's waiting room and gossip about your little farm life."
The room goes dead still. Spencer looks like he is about to pass out, shrinking into his chair as if trying to disappear.
I force a laugh trying to ease the tension. "Haha, oh, he's so funny," I say, nudging Ilay with my elbow and shooting Spencer a look that screamsplay along or die. Spencer lets out a shaky, haunted laugh that sounds like a dying vacuum cleaner.
"Haha... yeah, big guy... big sense of humor," I continue, my voice sugary sweet. "Sure, he's big and scary looking, but he wouldn't hurt a fly! Right?" Ilay raises an eyebrow but remains silent.
I smile at Spencer. "Sorry for the rough greeting, but please, just tell us where the documents are." Spencer licks his lips,darting his eyes to the door, then leans in, whispering, "If I tell you... can you guarantee my safety?"
Ilay rolls his eyes so hard I practically hear them click. "I could not care less."
I click my tongue then turn to face spencer with my calm and reassuring lawyer smile. "I can. I'll handle it personally. Bring them to the inn tomorrow morning. We'll keep you safe, I promise."
He gives a small nod, trembling as he begins to stand.
A loudBANGshatters the room. One second, Spencer has a face. The next—he doesn't.
