The simple truth of that sits between us.
“Then you stay,” I say. “But you eat something. And you drink water. I don’t need another body dropping to the floor today.”
A faint smile touches her mouth. “Yes, Pakhan,” she says.
I step into the hall. The lights are brighter now. The house is awake. Men move with purpose. Voices crack through radios. Doors open and shut. The machine I built turns in a new direction.
This is not just a business problem anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time, but tonight stripped the last mask off. The Courier walked through the rooms where my child sleeps. He took something I cannot replace.
I walk toward the control room where Kirill waits with maps and feeds and lists of names. Vlad sends updates from the ground. Andrei tracks the outer cameras. Every screen shows a piece of my city. I don’t intend to lose this battle, but to end it. For Vera, Raina, and the little girl asleep with her bear and her boats. Taking a slow breath in, I put my hand on the control room door and step inside.
16
RAINA
Iwake with a weight in my head and a slow roll in my stomach. For a moment I think I’m on the apartment couch, that I fell asleep watching the security feeds. Then I open my eyes and see the ceiling.
The wood above me is carved and painted. Reds and blues and golds curve along the beams. Small flowers, twisting vines, tiny birds with spread wings. Someone did this work by hand and took their time.
I turn my head. The room is small and neat with walls made of wood that are scrubbed clean. The bed under me is soft. A wool blanket covers my legs. A lace curtain hangs over a single window. Pale light seeps through it. I take a deep breath in and inhale pine, smoke, and something rich from a kitchen.
My tongue feels thick and my mouth is dry. My arm tingles when I push myself up. I sit on the edge of the bed until the floor stops tilting.
The last clear thing I remember is Nadia’s breath against my neck and the taste of cocoa on my tongue. Her head was on myshoulder. Anastasia put a mug into my hand. She smiled and I thought that perhaps she was letting her guard down around me, finally. My chest tightens. I push the image away for a second so I can stand.
My throat scratches the moment I remember Vera’s face and that I never got to say goodbye. My best friend, and I couldn’t save her. And Sergei… he must be beside himself with grief and anger.
I swing my feet to the floor. A rug meets my skin. The fibers scratch my soles. I flex my toes, testing balance, testing control. My muscles answer. I’m not tied. No handcuffs, no rope. I’m still in the clothes from the house. Black pants, black sweater, socks.
The door is across from the bed, wooden and thick, with a simple metal handle. I walk to it and try the handle. It turns, but the lock holds. My shoulder bumps the wood. It doesn’t give. There’s a keyhole under the handle. No key on my side.
I check the window next. The curtain is light. I move it aside. Outside, I see snow, a line of dark trees, and part of a roof. The glass is thick and has a heavy frame with a latch. I test it. It lifts, but the window barely moves. Someone has painted the seam shut or sealed it from outside. Cold slips in through a thin gap and kisses my fingers.
I step back and look again at the room. There is a narrow wardrobe with painted doors, a small table with two chairs, and a brick stove in the corner. A kettle rests on the stove. A narrow shelf holds a row of icons and a little brass lamp. Everything is careful. Everything is arranged to look harmless.
The table holds plates and cups. Steam curls from a bowl of stew. Bread sits in a basket. Butter softens on a small dish. There is a glass of water and a clay mug that smells of tea with honey.
My stomach tightens with hunger. I don’t know how long I’ve been out. The last time I ate was before the bathhouse, before Vera died, before the cocoa. My body demands something now.
I stand still and breathe. They already took me out of my own house. They drugged me under my own roof. If they want to add poison, they have had enough chances. Food here is a message, not the main weapon. It says, I can keep you alive as easily as I can take you apart.
On light feet, I walk to the table and take a seat. The chair creaks. The stew smells of meat, potatoes, herbs. I pick up the spoon and feel the weight. My hand trembles once, then steadies. I take one careful bite and wait.
Salt, fat, heat. No sharp taste. No metal. My throat accepts it. My stomach flares with both relief and anger. I eat. I do not rush, but I don’t pretend I’m not hungry. I finish half the bowl, some bread, and drink the water. I leave the tea for now.
The laptop sits at the far edge of the table, black and thin, closed. No logo or stickers or cables that I can see. Just a small light on the side that shows it is charged and ready. I put the spoon down and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. My heart is beating too fast now. Not from the food. From the feeling that something is about to shift.
The laptop buzzes. The sound is sharp in the quiet room. The small light on the side blinks faster. The lid lifts a little and then opens on its own. The screen glows.
A call window fills the display. There is no name, only a symbol in the corner. A clean white circle with three small lines inside it. One vertical, two crossing. A plaything for clever men who think they are untouchable.
The “accept” button pulses.
I stare at it for three breaths. Sergei would tell me to wait, to test the room for other signals, to see if the call triggers some other action. I don’t have his network here or his men. I don’t even have a proper knife. I have my hands, my head, and a locked door. I clickAccept.
The screen shifts. The upper half stays black, but a line dream flickers across the center. A voice comes through the speakers. It is neither deep nor high. It’s steady, clear, and clean. It sounds like someone who has spent a lot of time teaching his throat to hide his true tone.
“Good morning, Raina,” he says.
