Hannah’s door. I push through without knocking.
The room stops me cold.
The bed is empty. Covers thrown back, pillow still dented. The late afternoon light cuts through the curtains and tracks down the wall to the floor, where Mr. Brummy lies on his side, one button eye facing up.
Lauren makes a sound behind me that I will never unhear.
She pushes past me into the corridor, already calling Hannah’s name. I take the stairs. Every room, every corner—couch cushions, the space beneath the dining table, the kitchen. “Hannah.” I keep my voice controlled, the way you speak to a child who might be frightened. “It’s okay. We just want to see you.”
Silence answers every time.
Lauren meets me at the bottom of the stairs. Her face is white, her eyes searching mine for something I can’t give her. I look back as steadily as I can and say nothing, because anything I say right now will cost us both something we can’t afford.
She goes back upstairs. I hear her moving room to room, Hannah’s name becoming less a call and more a wound with each repetition.
Then: “Niko.”
Her voice has changed.
“Your phone.”
I take the stairs two at a time and cross into the office. The phone is lit up on the desk, the screen showing a single line.
Unknown number.
Lauren appears in the doorway behind me, one hand gripping the frame. Every feature on her face has gone completely still.
I pick up the phone and put it on speaker.
“Welcome back from the dead, Niko.” The voice is unhurried. Pleased with itself.Familiar.“Do I have your attention?”
Lauren’s hand falls from the doorframe.
She takes one step into the office and drops.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Nikolai
Lauren goes down hard.
I catch her before she hits the floor and get her to the couch, two fingers to her neck—pulse steady, breathing even. She’s out, not gone. She’ll come to in a few minutes.
I take the phone off speaker and press it to my ear.
“If you touch her—”
“You’ll what?” Aslanov’s voice is almost gentle. That’s the thing I’d almost forgotten about him. He doesn’t need to perform. “Think carefully before you finish that sentence,dolboyob. You’re not in a position to be making threats, are you?”
I say nothing. Giving him silence costs him more than giving him heat.
“Four fucking years.” He sounds genuinely reflective. “I’ll admit, I underestimated you. I won’t make that mistake again.” A pause. “You should have stayed dead. It was the smarter play.”
“Tell me she’s alive.”
“She’s fine. She’s confused and she wants her mother, but she’s fine.” His tone doesn’t change. “The rest is up to you.”
The words land exactly as he intends them to.
