A faint smile touches his mouth, as if the bluntness genuinely entertains him. “Direct as always.”
“Where is she?”
Ivan tilts his head, studying my face as though the answer to that question matters less than the way I chose to ask it. His gaze lingers there a moment before moving to the open stretch of warehouse floor between us.
“You walked through this yard already,” he remarks casually. “That’s the interesting part.”
I let the statement sit in the air without answering.
“You were close,” he continues, adjusting his stance as he studies me. “Closer than you realized.”
That lines up far too well with the suspicion that has been circling in my mind since I read the note.
“She’s in the train yard,” I reply.
Ivan spreads his hands, acknowledging the deduction with a relaxed shrug. “It’s convenient.”
“It’s temporary.”
“Everything is temporary,” he states flatly.
“You delivered Arkady’s body to my gate,” I remark, keeping my eyes on him.
“Yes.”
“Which means this isn’t about him anymore.”
Ivan’s smile fades. “It was never about him.”
Something in the tone of that sentence changes. Arkady mattered only as long as he believed he was building something larger. Now he doesn’t matter at all.
“You used him,” I say.
Ivan shrugs, brushing an invisible speck from the sleeve of his coat before letting his hand drop again. “Arkady believed he was building something. I allowed that belief to exist as long as it served its purpose.”
“And when it stopped serving you?”
“I ended it.”
The admission comes without apology. I glance once toward the loading doors before looking back at him. “And now you think you’ve replaced him.”
Ivan chuckles quietly. “You’re jumping ahead.”
“I’m listening.”
“Good,” he replies, folding his arms loosely across his chest. “Because this part actually matters.”
He takes a half-step to the side. The movement changes the angle of the overhead light across his face, leaving one side of it partially shadowed.
“You’ve spent years building your reputation,” he continues. “Men talk about the Sovarin name like it’s something important. Like the power behind it belongs to you by default.”
“It belongs to the men who enforce it.”
“Yes,” Ivan replies, his tone almost conversational. “And to the men who understand where power actually comes from.”
He pauses, then he adds quietly, “Which is where Lila comes in.”
He watches my face closely after saying it. I don’t react outwardly, though several pieces of the situation begin sliding into place at once.
