Not as a guest.
Not as family.
Not even as leverage in the way he thinks.
But as something he intends to break.
The thought sharpens as I’m led deeper into the estate. Toward the center. Toward the rooms that were never meant for visitors like me anymore.
I’m ushered into a sitting room and told to sit. The voice is polite. Carefully controlled. Almost respectful.
But I don’t mistake it for safety. Not for even a second.
There’s respect in the way they move around me, in the way they avoid unnecessary contact, in the way they speak like they remember who I once was.
What my father once was.
But respect doesn’t stop a bullet.
And I know it.
The moment Anton gives an order, none of this softness will matter.
I sit anyway.
The door closes behind the last of them.
Click.
And then I’m alone.
For the first time since I left the mansion, there is no noise. No gunfire in the distance. No movement nearby. Just silence so thick it presses against my ears.
My hands rest in my lap.
But my mind isn’t at rest.
It keeps going back to him.
Timofey.
The last time I saw him. The way he looked at me. The way he held me like he could physically stop the world from taking me if he just didn’t let go.
I don’t know where he is right now. I don’t know what he’s doing. I only know him.
I know what he becomes when I’m gone.
He won’t stop. Not for anything. Not for logic. Not for distance. Not for consequence.
He’ll tear the city apart looking for me. Piece by piece if he has to.
A faint breath leaves me.
Will he find me?
The answer comes immediately. Not as hope. Not as fear. As fact.
Yes.
