Page 75 of The Pakhan’s Debt by Leona White

My hand closes over the edge of the table. “Mine, yes.”

Leonid looks down at the papers, smart enough to stay dead silent.

Elena’s chin lifts. “I have to be there.”

“They’ll test the edges. They’ll try to find out whether I’m protecting an asset, a prisoner, or a woman I’ll burn men over.”

Her face changes at that, but she doesn’t back down. “And what am I?”

I look at her for a long second.

“Under my roof.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one they’re getting today.”

Her fingers curl against her coat. “If they discuss my safety, I sit in.”

“No.”

“If they discuss my name, I sit in. I’m done being hidden while men decide how dangerous my life is.”

Leonid’s jaw works once.

I stare at her, and she stares back, exhausted and angry and still standing like she has a weapon in each hand. God help the next man who mistakes her for soft.

“Fine,” I say. “You sit beside me.”

Her shoulders ease by half an inch.

I point at her. “You don’t answer bait. You don’t explain yourself to Dima, Abramov, Ilya, or anyone else I put in that room. If they talk security, I answer. Mrs. Wentworth answers staff. Dima and Ilya answer routes.”

“And if they talk law?”

Leonid looks up. I almost smile. Wrong day for it.

“If they talk law,” I say, “you answer.”

The downstairs office sits behind the formal house. The corridor shifts to dark herringbone, then to old oak under runners. The office itself has no patience for beauty with a long table, green lamps, wall maps, black phones, and locked cabinets, enough ash in the hearth to prove men have stood here late, waiting for trouble to finish putting on shoes.

By the time I enter, the clean core is waiting.

I look around the table, letting my eyes settle on every face. Some men look at me, some steal a glance at Elena, where she sits with her mouth stiff, and a few drop their eyes to the wood.

“Keep this close,” I say, taking my time with every face around the table. “If I hear it outside this room, I’ll know exactly where to start.”

Abramov’s face changes. “The doctor’s entry was sealed.”

“Seals don’t blind people,” Mrs. Wentworth says. Everyone turns to face her.

Mrs. Wentworth holds her gaze, and the room loses a little comfort around the edges.

“Paperwork doesn’t stop people from watching,” Mrs. Wentworth says. “Someone could have followed the doctor or seen which entrance she used. The guards have changed, and we’ve been more careful since the breach, but one of our own sold a door once.”

Her eyes drop to the floor for half a second, then come back up.

“Men notice women. Girls notice power. A driver smiles, a maid blushes, someone trades a detail for attention, and a secret walks out dressed as gossip.”