“Yes,” I reply, keeping calm.
My voice travels across the open space and returns a second later, flattened by the ceiling. There’s a pause that feels intentional rather than uncertain, long enough for me to become aware of the rope tightening again when I roll my shoulders.
“What did Alexei Morozov tell you before he died?”
I keep my eyes on the sliding metal door across the warehouse. The surface reflects the overhead light in dull patches, revealing uneven streaks where water once ran down it and dried in narrow lines.
“He was losing blood,” I answer. “He wasn’t coherent.”
“What did he tell you?”
I think of the trauma bay without meaning to. The fluorescent lights, the smell of antiseptic layered over iron, and the pressure of his fingers around my wrist as his pulse weakened beneath them.
“He repeated names,” I say. “They didn’t connect to anything I understood.”
“Did he name anyone within the Sovarin organization?”
“Nothing I could place,” I reply.
The static hum rises for a second, then flattens again, as if someone has adjusted a dial.
“Did he speak of financial operations?”
“No.”
“How much do you know about Sovarin Biomedical Technologies?”
The question changes direction without changing tone, moving from bedside to boardroom in a single breath.
“I know what most physicians know,” I tell him. “They fund research. They sponsor trauma programs. And they show up at events.”
The train hums faintly beneath the floor again, the vibration moving through the concrete and into my shoulder and hip before fading.
“How many captains report directly to Kiren Sovarin?”
“I don’t know,” I answer. “I’m not part of it.”
“Who manages security outside the city?”
“I’ve never asked.”
“You live inside his world now. You know more than you think.”
I let a breath move through me before responding.
“I live in his apartment,” I state. “That doesn’t mean I sit in on his meetings.”
The silence returns again, thicker than before. I can hear the faint hum of the light above and the slow rhythm of Lila’s breathing beside me. Somewhere along the far wall, a drop of water hits metal and echoes once.
“Did Alexei describe internal dissent?” the voice asks.
“He was fighting to breathe,” I answer. “He wasn’t outlining grievances.”
The static softens and then returns to its low hiss, filling the space again.
“You’re protecting him.”
I turn my head slightly toward the center of the warehouse, though I can’t see the speaker, only the shadowed beams and drifting dust above.
