Sergei notices him immediately.
He gives a small nod.
Timofey doesn’t return it right away.
His gaze stays on me for a second longer than necessary.
Then it shifts to Sergei.
“Who are you?” he asks.
The room tightens instantly.
Sergei doesn’t flinch.
He straightens slightly instead, as if time itself hasn’t managed to bend him into fear.
“I am Sergei Volodin,” he says. “My loyalty was to Valeria’s father when he was alive—and it remains with his legacy even in death.”
Timofey hums low in his throat.
Not approval. Not dismissal. Just acknowledgment.
A calculation.
Sergei continues, voice steady but worn at the edges.
“Anton Petrov has been hunting anyone who remained loyal to him.”
My stomach tightens slightly at the name.
“He is not stopping,” Sergei adds. “Not after the takeover. Not after the killing. Not after the warnings.”
His eyes flick to me now.
“Several former advisors have already disappeared.”
Silence settles heavier.
I feel it in my chest more than in the room.
Sergei exhales once, slower now.
“I’ve only survived by moving constantly,” he continues. “Changing locations. Relying on old contacts who still respect the Petrov name.”
A faint bitterness touches his voice.
“Even that respect is fading.”
My fingers curl at my sides.
Because I understand what he’s saying without him having to say it fully.
The net is closing.
Not just on me.
On anyone connected to my father.
