25. Dominik #2
“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.
“They don’t need to have it,” I say. “They just need to believe it exists and could come out.”
She stays quiet.
“So they keep pushing in other ways,” I say. “Audits. Reviews. Questions. Rooms like this. As long as they think the ledger is somewhere, they can keep watching you and anyone around you.”
“And if they find it?”
“Then it stops being a shadow,” I say. “Then things blow open.”
I look at her. “That’s how this works until it stops working.”
“So we make a ripple,” she says, her fingers tightening around the cup.
“We do,” I say. “We don’t sneak in and hope no one notices us. We go in together. Married. On paper. We let them see I’m settled, and that you’re with me.”
She doesn’t cut in.
“They’ll be watching who walks in with me.” I look at her. “That’s you.”
She nods once, then says, “And Mila?”
“She leaves tonight,” I say. “She goes with Irina.”
Ana goes still for a moment. Then her shoulders tighten and settle again.
Irina arrives an hour later. Ana wakes Mila and sits with her on the edge of the bed until the sleep leaves her eyes.
Irina doesn’t rush it. She crouches so she’s level with Mila and tells her they’re going on a visit, just for a little while.
She says there’s a farm where she lives, with animals that need feeding and fences that need checking.
Horses, rabbits, ducks. Mila listens, serious at first, then her face lifts when Irina says she can help.
“Will Mommy come too?” she asks, her eyes wide.
“Mommy’s got some work to finish, baby,” Ana says. “With Papa. We’ll come join you later and help feed the horses once we’re done.”
Ana and Irina pack in practiced silence. Clothes folded small. The fox tucked into the side pocket. Mila watches the whole time. When Ana reaches for the zipper, Mila stops her and goes back to the room. She comes back with her tin sword and holds it out.
“That comes too,” Irina says without hesitation. “Every farm needs a guard.”
Mila nods and puts it in herself.
At the door, Ana crouches and straightens Mila’s jacket, smoothing it once more than necessary. Mila wraps her arms around her neck and presses her face in, hard. Ana holds her until Irina clears her throat, gentle but firm. She rests a hand on Mila’s shoulder.
“I’ll keep her close,” she says. “She won’t be alone, and she won’t be rushed.”
Mila steps toward me before Irina takes her hand. I straighten her collar and tap the tin sword once to make sure it’s there.
“Listen,” I say.
Irina settles the shawl around her shoulders and guides her down the stairs. The door closes behind them, and the room turns noiseless, the small child-sounds gone all at once.
My secure phone vibrates once.
Igor.
Meeting confirmed. Off-books.
I lock the phone and stand.