My belongings come next. The officer returns my wallet, watch, and phone. He clears his throat. "Sorry about the misunderstanding." He picks up the papers, rises, and leaves, shutting the door.
Mikhail stands and warns, "It's just as easy to make this come back as it was for me to clean it up."
"Is that a threat?" I spout.
"Yes." He narrows his gaze on mine. "Whatever happened between the two of you, it's now over. The Ivanovs aren't men you want to test."
A fresh chill runs down my spine.
"Have a good day, Dr. Mercer," he offers, then strolls out of the room.
I don't move, trying to process everything that's happened.
A guard appears. "We need the room. You're free to go."
I stare at him.
"Did you need something?" he asks, irritated.
"No," I mumble, and brush past him, following the arrows on the floor until I'm out in the fresh air.
It takes several blocks before I slow down. I finally sit on a bench, takeout my phone, and turn it on. Sound narrows to a violent drumbeat inside me, every strike blurring the edges of the lake.
I open my text messages and clench my jaw, staring at the cleaned app.
Recent calls end abruptly hours before the arrest. Messages are missing, and drafts are gone. Even my location history looks scrubbed, like someone wiped fingerprints off a glass surface, leaving only reflections.
Blue's number, text chain, and photographs don't exist.
They erased her.
They erased us.
A laugh threatens to tear out of my throat, sharp and humorless, but I swallow it down.
A couple walks past the bench, laughing, shoulders brushing, hands locked. Their happiness scrapes against my nerves. I tuck the phone into my pocket like it burned me and stare out at the water instead. Wind ripples the surface, sunlight breaking apart and reforming in fragments that never settle.
Ripples.
Volkov chose that word carefully.
I flex my hands, watching the tendons shift beneath my skin, deciding it isn't panic I'm feeling. Panic is loud, but my emotions are quieter and sharper. They're the kind of awareness that locks into place when you realize the rules you thought applied no longer do.
Compliance buys time.
Discretion buys survival.
Neither buys safety.
I replay the moments in the room. Volkov's calm certainty, the way the guards deferred without question, and the speed at which my problem evaporated. None of that exists in a normal situation. Power like that doesn't act unless it's protecting something larger than the law.
Blue.
Where is she?
She has to be out of jail if I am, yet the certainty stays unresolved, driving me crazy.
I have to stay away from her.
