He nods once. “There is a tray on the table,” he says. “A teacup, an empty glass. A small bottle on its side. We smelled bitter almonds in the room. She is on the floor. No pulse. Doctor says poison. Fast acting. Looks like she took it herself.”
Nadia’s eyes widen. “Nastya is dead,” she whispers.
Raina closes her eyes for a second. Her grip tightens around Nadia’s shoulder.
“Where is she now?” I ask.
“In the small guest room near the staff corridor,” Vlad says. “Doctor covered her and is waiting for your orders. There is also a note.”
“A note,” I repeat.
“Yes,” he says. “Addressed to you. And to the child.”
Cold anger slides through me. “Take Nadia to the living room,” I tell Raina softly. “Sit with her there. I’ll come in a few minutes.”
“No,” Nadia says. “I want to stay with you.”
I crouch so my eyes meet hers. “You’ve already done more than any adult I know,” I say quietly. “You brought us together again.Now I need you to do one more thing. Go with Mama and breathe. Let me see what Nastya left. I won’t be long.”
She looks at me for a long second, then nods. “Okay,” she says. “But you come back. I don’t want you to go away again.”
“I won’t,” I say. “Not tonight.”
Vlad walks them inside toward the main rooms. I turn down the side hall with Kirill. The air feels thick. Guards stand by the staff corridor with hard faces. They move aside when they see me.
The guest room door is open now. Inside, the light is on. The curtains are half drawn. Anastasia lies on the floor near the low bed, a blanket pulled over her up to her shoulders. Her dark hair spills out on the floor. Her face is pale and still.
On the small table by the window sits a teacup, a glass with a cloudy ring at the bottom, and a small brown bottle on its side. The label is peeled off. The sharp almond smell is still in the air. The doctor stands near the door. He nods to me.
“She’s gone,” he says quietly. “At least an hour, maybe more.”
“Pain?” I ask.
“Some,” he says. “Not long. She chose speed.”
A folded piece of paper lies under the bottle. My name is on it in neat handwriting. Below it, in smaller letters, is Nadia’s name.
My chest goes tight. I pick it up and unfold it.
The note is short. The letters are steady.
Sergei,
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to touch her. He came to me a year ago. He knew my brother’s debts. He knew my mother’s medicine. He said if I did small things, no one would suffer. I only watched the doors and the deliveries. I only passed timings. I never laid a hand on Raina. I never would.
When he took her, I understood too late what I had helped build. I tried to pull back. He sent pictures. He said if I talked, he would take Nadia next. He said he had hands in your own guard. I believed him, because I saw how deep he already was.
I loved that child. I failed her. I can’t look at her face and pretend I am clean. I leave before you have to decide what to do with me.
Tell her I am sorry. Tell her I was weak. Tell her she deserved better.
Anastasia
My hands curl around the paper. I feel no triumph, only a deep, tired anger and a hard, cold line.
Kirill reads over my shoulder. He swears under his breath. “He reached even her,” he says.
“He reached everyone he could,” I say. “Anyone in debt. Anyone with a sick parent. Anyone who felt the ground move under them.”
