“What did he tell you?” he asks. “What does he want from you?”
“He wants me to work with him,” I say. “He says your network is broken. He says most of your men are his now. He says I can keep a path to you and Nadia if I help him.”
Nadia’s arms tighten around his neck. She looks from his face to mine.
“And what did you say?” Sergei asks.
I swallow. The Courier is listening for this.
“I said I would work,” I say. “I said I would help.”
His jaw clenches. Rage moves under his skin, but his voice stays flat.
“Of course she did,” the Courier says from outside the frame. “She’s practical. She understands that the old world wants to die. She understands that clinging to it only pulls more people under.”
“You think you can buy her with your smoke,” Sergei retorts. “You think she will forget who walked into fire for her.”
“I think she will do what mothers do when the world collapses,” the Courier says. “She will move where she must to keep that child breathing. The rest is noise.”
Nadia looks confused and frightened. Her chin trembles.
“Stop,” I say. “Both of you. Stop talking about me like I’m not here.”
Sergei looks at me. In his eyes I see hurt, fury, and a kind of fierce pride. He knows what I’m doing even if he hates each part of it.
“I’ll come for you,” he says. “Whatever game you think you’re in, I’ll break it. You hold on to that. You don’t give him anything that cuts deeper than names you already wanted to burn.”
The Courier gives a small laugh.
“You’ll try,” he says. “I look forward to watching.”
“I know you’ll try,” I say softly to Sergei. “I know you’ll move fast. I just need you to stay alive.”
“I’m going to keep Dada alive,” Nadia says in a small, fierce voice.
“My brave girl,” I whisper.
The screen flickers. A timer appears at the edge of the frame.
“Two minutes,” the Courier says. “Then we’re done for today.”
Two minutes is nothing. Two minutes is everything.
“Nadia,” I say. “Be a brave girl for Mama. My song will keep you warm.”
She nods, eyes huge.
“Good,” I say.
Sergei shifts her on his lap so she faces him more. His hand cups the back of her head. His eyes never leave mine.
“Remember the third bridge,” I say. “Remember the crooked birch. Remember the blue roof. Remember the fox and the red sun.”
“Time,” the Courier says.
The screen jitters. Nadia’s image shrinks. Sergei’s window moves. For a second, all three of us fill the display. Then the feed cuts. Their faces vanish. The black field with the white symbol returns.
The room around me feels too quiet. My own breath sounds loud. My hands shake.
