Back at the apartment, Ana is sitting on the floor with Mila, her legs folded, her voice soft as she smooths Mila’s hair and whispers something meant only for her. She looks up when I come in. She doesn’t search my face for answers. She just meets my eyes and nods.
Mila gets to her feet at once. She grabs my hand with both of hers and tugs. “Come,” she says, like it’s urgent and joyful at the same time.
She pulls me down the short hall and into her room.
“Look, my room,” she claims, beaming as I turn my head around to take in her space. The walls are papered with soft colors, shapes meant to be animals if I squint just right. A small cot sits against the far wall with bright linens tucked tightly. A waist-high shelf with books is lined up by size, some old, some new, all handled. Her tin sword rests on top, placed carefully like it belongs there.
Mila lets go of my hand only long enough to point things out, proud of each one, then steps back to see my face.
“It’s beautiful,” I say because that’s what she’s waiting for.
In the kitchen, Ana is moving between the stove and the counter. The fridge is stocked, more than I asked for, with staples and fresh food and the small things that matter when you’re feeding a child. My contact didn’t miss anything. He never does when he knows I’ll remember it later.
We eat together at the table. Ana made borscht, dark and rich, with bread still warm from the oven. There are pelmeni on a shared plate, sour cream set between us, sliced cucumbers dressed simply. Mila eats slowly, serious about it, like this is work she’s decided to do well.
The meal settles us. No one rushes. The room holds the sound of spoons and hushed voices, and for a while, it feels like this is where we’re meant to be.
After dinner, Mila brings me a book from her shelf and presses it into my hands. It’s a children’s book about the sea, thick pages, bright drawings of whales and small fish that talk to each other. The title is worn at the corners from being opened too many times.
We sit on the edge of her bed while I read it straight through, my voice steady, my finger following the pictures when she asks questions. She interrupts to point out the octopus every time it appears, like it’s an old friend.
When the story ends, Ana comes in and pulls the blanket up to Mila’s shoulders. She smooths it once, then again, slower the second time. She dims the lamp until the room holds just enough light to feel safe and leans down to kiss Mila’s forehead. Mila’s eyes are already closing. Ana leaves the door nearly shut, careful not to let it click.
We move to the sitting room and sit with coffee, warming our hands. The apartment settles into its rhythm, the only sound the radiator ticking and the occasional creak from the building.
I turn the mug in my hands until the heat settles, then set it down and stand by the window. The city throws a pale reflection back at me. I don’t watch it for long.
“We’re going to a meeting,” I say.
Ana looks up. The light catches her eyes, and something moves across her face before she reins it in. “A meeting.”
“Yes.”
She waits.
“They’re reopening corridor reviews,” I say. “On paper, it looks routine. It isn’t. When those meetings start, people pay attention to who shows up and who doesn’t.”
She studies me for a moment. “Why should that work for us?”
“Because I’m late,” I say.
She waits.
“When I walk in on time, I’m just one more person in the room,” I say. “If I go in late, people notice. They don’t have time to hide it. You see who looks up, who looks away, and who suddenly wants to step out.”
“And that doesn’t draw heat?” she asks.
“It draws information,” I say. “That’s what we need.”
She leans back a little and looks at me properly now. “What do you get from being there?”
“Context,” I say. “How people react. Who stops talking. Who suddenly has something else to look at when certain routes come up. Markov’s operations didn’t exist on their own. They ran through places like this.”
“How does it connect to the ledger?” she asks.
“As long as it stays buried, no one reaches for open blood,” I say.
“If it’s buried, how can they claim me?” Ana asks.
