The air shifts. My stomach drops.
“You’ve beenwatchingme cook?”
“We’ve been watching everything,” Boris says, not unkindly. “It’s our job.”
I snatch the oil from Dima’s hand, pulse hammering in my ears. Creepy. It’s creepy. Invasive and controlling and exactly the kind of thing I should be furious about.
Except.
Except Dima knew I take oil third. Which means hepaid attention. Which means somewhere between the gunfights and the blood and the violence, he watched me make eggs at 6 AM and filed it away like it mattered.
I pour the oil in, whisk again. My voice comes out rougher than I want. “That‘s… insanely weird.”
“Da,” Dima agrees.
“But also….” Lev leans forward, elbows on his knees. “We know you put too much vanilla in your coffee. You sing off-key when you think no one’s listening. And you talk to Gordo like he’s a therapist.”
“I donot—”
“Gordo, am I an idiot? Tell me honestly,“ Boris recites in a high-pitched voice that sounds nothing like me.
My face goes nuclear. “Oh, myGod.”
Lev is wheezing. Actual wheezing. “The cat… the cat just stared at you. You said, ‘That’s what I thought.‘“
“I hate all of you.”
“No, you don’t,” Lev sings.
He’s right. I don’t. And that’s the problem.
I turn back to the stove, flick the burner on. The pan heats, butter sizzling as I drop it in. I pour the first pancake—a decent circle, no wonky edges—and try to pretend my hands aren’t shaking.
“So,” I say, because silence feels too heavy right now. Then it hits me. My stomach drops. “Wait. Security feeds. You’ve been watching me cook.”
“Yes,” Dima confirms.
“In the kitchen.”
“Da.”
My voice climbs. “What about myroom?”
Lev’s grin goes absolutely feral. “Why, sunshine? Got something interesting happening in there we should know about?”
My face ignites. “Lev, I swear to God—”
“Relax.” He holds up his hands, laughing. “Your room’s clean. No cameras, no audio. Anton’s psychotic about security, but he’s not acompletepervert.”
“Just a partial one?” I mutter.
“Bedroom and bathroom are off-limits,” Boris adds, more seriously. “Everything else? Fair game.”
The tension in my shoulders eases, just slightly. I exhale, turning back to the stove. “Okay. Good. That’s… good.”
“Although,” Lev adds, eyes glinting, “thewallsaren’t exactly soundproof, so—”
I throw a blueberry at his head. It bounces off his forehead.
