“In the old warehouse war,” he answers. “The Baranov crew used the same block when they hired that outside contractor. The one we never caught. They called him a courier too. Only back then, he moved guns and coordinates, not children.”
The words hit hard. I already knew the connection in my gut. Hearing it from someone else only confirms it.
“So he touched our system at three points,” I say. “He blinded the approach to her room, the corridor, and one vertical route. Did anyone see something with their eyes, not the cameras?”
“One of the laundry girls thought she heard a soft thud in the service hall,” he says. “She told her supervisor after the blackout but no one checked. They thought it was a dropped basket.”
“She still here?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says.
“Keep her close,” I answer. “I want every detail later. For now, I stay here.”
A funeral can’t wait. Death has its own clock in this world.
Vera’s body lies in the cold room off the private wing, under a white sheet. Her hair is brushed back. Her hands are folded. Her face is peaceful now, but I can still see the strain in the muscles of her jaw, the last fight she put up in that safe room. She held the gun until the end. She sat between my child and the door and did not run.
Anastasia stands by the door when I enter, as if she knew I’d come. She’s removed her apron and put on a simple black dress. Her hair is tied back. Her eyes are red but dry. She inclines her head.
“I called Father Ilya,” she says. “He is on his way. I didn’t want to wait for your permission. I hope that’s alright.”
“It is more than alright,” I say. I look down at Vera. “She deserves more than this room.”
“I’ll handle the payments,” I say. “Her family will not worry about bills. They’ll have a place at the house in the country if they want it. I want a stone for her in the private plot. Not just a line in the staff records.”
Anastasia nods. “She loved Nadia,” she says. “She would’ve given her life for that child.”
“She did,” I say.
We stand in silence for a moment. The cold air bites at my lungs. The white tile reflects the harsh light.
“Go back to Nadia after this,” I tell Anastasia. “Stay there through the night. When Father Ilya comes, I’ll see him myself. We’ll do the prayers before morning.”
“She asked for you in her sleep,” Anastasia says. “Nadia. She whispered your name and Raina’s and Vera’s. She’s too young to carry this weight.”
“She won’t carry it alone,” I answer.
I leave the cold room and head back to my daughter.
The hallway outside her bedroom is guarded now. Two men on each side of the door. One at the end of the hall. Another at the junction with the main corridor. Their posture is tight, rifles across their chests, eyes watchful. They move aside when I approach.
Inside, the nightlight is on. It paints soft color on the wall. Nadia still sleeps, curled around her bear. Her small brows are drawn in, even in sleep. She clings to the toy like it’s the only anchor she has left.
I sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips under my weight. Nadia stirs and murmurs something half-formed. I reach out and smooth her hair back. Her eyes flutter and then open halfway.
“Papa,” she whispers.
“I’m here,” I say. “Right here.”
She blinks, trying to pull herself out of sleep. Her gaze moves from my face to Anastasia and back.
“Where is Mama?” she asks.
The question cuts through me, but I keep my voice even.
“She had to go fix something,” I say. “She had to go do something so you can stay safe here. She didn’t want to wake you. She asked me to watch you.”
Her lower lip trembles. “She said she would stay until I slept.”
