I feel the trap in the question immediately. “She was present when something happened,” I say. “That makes her a loose end. Nothing more.”
The lie lands cleanly enough in the room, but not with her.
Never with her.
My mother takes another step forward, folding her hands in front of her. “Alyosha. I raised you. You may lie to the world if you find it necessary, but don’t insult me by trying it here.”
The room goes very quiet.
Anton suddenly finds the label on his whiskey bottle fascinating. Sergei looks at the floor. Ilya, bastard that he is, says nothing at all.
I force my jaw to unclench. “It is being handled.”
“That was not what I asked.”
I hold her gaze. “And I’m not answering.”
For a second, I think she’ll push harder. Instead, she sighs, soft and tired, and some of the steel leaves her posture.
“Your father has always been cruelest when he senses softness,” she says. “If there is a girl, and if she means nothing, then good. Keep it that way.”
I say nothing.
Because agreeing would be too easy.
And because, standing here, I can still picture Zatanna in my coat, pale and shaken, looking up at me and asking who I am like the answer might ruin her.
My mother watches me absorb that and knows, of course she knows, that she’s closer to the truth than I want anyone to be.
She nods once, more to herself than to me. “Then I hope for her sake that you are better at distance than your father ever was.”
The words sting more than they should.
Because distance is exactly what I’ve been trying.
And I’m already failing.
She turns toward the door again, then pauses. “Be careful, Alyosha.”
“I always am.”
That at least gets the faintest, saddest curve from her mouth. “No,” she says. “You are often ruthless. That is not the same thing.”
Then she leaves, the door closing softly behind her.
No one speaks for several seconds.
Finally, Ilya lifts his glass. “Well. That went about as badly as expected.”
I cut him a look sharp enough to draw blood.
He raises a hand. “I’m just saying. She knows.”
“She knows there was a woman in the conversation,” I say. “That is all.”
Ilya gives me a long, unconvinced look. “If telling yourself that helps.”
Sergei clears his throat, wisely steering us back to business. “We’ll keep watching your father. So far, his people are still talking like he expects the deadline to beat you. Nothing specific about the girl.”
