The boutique’s too bright.
Everything’s white tile and curated lighting, designed to make overpriced lunchboxes look like luxury handbags. There’s a scent piped in through the vents—vanilla and lemon—too clean, too intentional. Background music floats overhead, some bouncy acoustic cover of a Taylor Swift song that makes my teeth itch.
It’s barely past ten. The mall just opened. Not a soul in sight except us, the staff too polite to pretend they’re not watching the security detail flanking the entrance.
Viktor blends near the exit. Leonid hangs back by a display of organic toddler shoes. Both in plain clothes, but no one’s mistaking them for casual shoppers. The boutique is empty—just glass walls, shelves full of shiny shit, and the three people who make pretending feel dangerous.
We move deeper into the boutique.
Alya’s bouncing in sparkly sneakers, her hand clasped tightly in Bella’s, pulling her toward the kids’ section like she knows the way by heart. Rows of backpacks shaped like animals and cartoon characters line the walls.
Bella lets herself be led, eyes scanning each shelf.
“Over here! Bella.” Alya’s hand is swallowed in Bella’s as they stroll past shelves stacked with cartoon backpacks and overpriced pencil cases. There’s a pink glitter trail forming in their wake, courtesy of Alya’s current obsession: anything that looks like a unicorn threw up on it.
“Five zippers, Bella,” Alya says, dead serious. “Because one zipper is for boring people. And I’m not boring. Right?”
Bella lets out a soft laugh, brushing Alya’s curls from her forehead. “Nope. You’re full-on sparkle chaos.”
The kid beams. Bella squeezes her hand. And just like that, something clicks into place.
Alya doesn’t even glance at me.
Not for permission.
Not for reassurance.
She’s all-in on Bella—bubbling over with stories, tugging her toward every shelf like this is their hundredth shopping trip, not their first.
I stand by the entrance, arms crossed, pretending to study the layout of the boutique while my eyes don’t leave them. Viktor’s shadow hovers near the exit. Leonid takes the rear. No threats. No strangers. No one even looks twice at us. The illusion of normal.
But I’m not watching for danger. Not right now.
I’m watchingher.
Bella’s trying to keep up with Alya’s barrage of pink opinions, but the smile never quite reaches her eyes. She’s doing that thing again—shoulders tense, mouth twitching like there’s something else playing behind her teeth. Her gaze drifts over to me moretimes than she probably realizes. Quick glances. Measuring. Weighing. She’s already told me she’s fine twice this morning, which means she’s anything but.
She hasn’t told me.
Not yet.
She zones out in front of a display of matching lunch boxes, and Alya has to tug her sleeve twice before she blinks and refocuses. That purse stays glued to her side like it’s carrying a passport and classified files instead of a wallet and lip balm. She’s holding something back.
The bag Alya finally settles on is a flamingo-pink monstrosity with rhinestones, glitter panels, and—yes—five zippers. She spins in place, arms outstretched, grinning like she just conquered retail.
“Papa! Look! This one has ahiddenpocket! For secret snacks!”
“Secrets, hmm?” I murmur, reaching out to run a finger along one of the small compartments. “What kind of secrets need their own zipper,solnyshko?”
Bella’s head snaps up, her eyes meeting mine for a fraction of a second before darting away. The movement is so quick most would miss it. I don’t miss anything.
“The good kind!” Alya insists, taking the bag from the display and hugging it to her chest. “Like surprise birthday presents and special drawings.”
“And the best hiding spots for cookies,” I add, tucking a strand of hair behind my daughter’s ear. “Though those never stay secret for long, do they?”
Alya giggles, the sound pure and bright in a world that isn’t. Bella’s smile wavers for a moment—just a moment—before she strengthens it again.
“This is definitely the one,” she says, her voice impressively steady. “Right, Alya?”
