Page 68 of The Pakhan’s Debt by Leona White

Now he may have the paper. My throat tightens, and I unlock the bathroom door before I can stand there any longer.

A knock lands at the door.

I freeze.

“Elena?” Mrs. Wentworth calls from the hall. “Would you prefer tea brought up, or are you coming down?”

I shove everything into the bottom drawer under a sweater, then stand with my hands at my sides. “I’m coming down.”

There’s a pause. “Are you unwell?”

“No. I’m looking for something.”

“Shall I send Lidiya?”

“No,” I say too fast, then make myself slow down. “No, thank you. I made a mess. I’ll find it.”

“As you wish.”

Her footsteps move away. Mrs. Wentworth survived a breach, hid in a supply cage, and still knows when to stop asking questions.

I take out my phone and call the pharmacy.

“Did I leave a printout there this morning?” I ask. “A printout of a scan. Folded.”

A pause. Then, “No, madam. We haven’t found anything.”

“Check again,” I say, then make myself ease back. “Please.”

Another pause. “Nothing here.”

I end the call and stand there with the phone in my hand.

This secret has had days to settle into me. It changes what I eat, what I refuse, where I stand, how I sleep, and how I let Maksim touch me. It was there in the safehouse, in the car back to the estate, in the legal room while I traced Sergei’s gaps and let Maksim think the worst thing my father left behind was paper.

If Maksim finds out from a missing clinic sheet, there will be no careful way to tell him. No steady voice. No right moment.

He’ll see the dates, the vitamins, the foods to avoid, and the warning signs. Then he’ll see the scan. He’ll know I knew when men dragged me through the estate. I knew when he carried me out, and when he changed my dressings with hands that stayed careful even when his face didn’t. I slept with him after the safehouse and still kept the truth locked behind my teeth. And I don’t know which part will hurt him worse.

He won’t read that as fear first. He’ll read it as a risk.

I stand because sitting is useless, then check the hallway. No one is outside my door. My grip tightens around the bag. I go downstairs, moving fast enough that my ribs remind me who owns the pain today. The hall is busy. Guards stand in the side corridor. A maid carries linens with both arms tight against her chest. Lidiya comes out of the sitting room with a tray and stops when she sees my face.

“Miss Sokolov?”

“Did anyone pick up paper from my bag?”

Her eyes widen, then she looks at the purse in my hand. “No, Miss.”

“From the kitchen last night? From the hallway?”

“I didn’t.”

“Think.”

She swallows. “Mrs. Wentworth cleared the plates. I took the bakery bags this morning. Mr. Volkov carried one bag upstairs after you left the kitchen, but I don’t know which one.”

The floor drops under my feet for half a second, and I catch the wall before my knees can embarrass me.