The room did not answer right away.
Mikhail was the one who spoke. Quieter than I had heard him be in a long time.
"And we almost lost you. We are not handing them another shot at you because your head is full of smoke."
Ivan, without looking up from the folder he had just closed, said, "Cheesy."
"Can you shut up?"
"I am only commenting."
"Comment less."
Alek let them finish. He always did. Then he laid his palm flat where Mikhail's had hit, like he was sealing the table back together.
"We do this slow. We do this sure. We gather more. Every man has a weakness. These men have several, and we will find each one and press until something gives."
I nodded once. The heat was still there. I shoved it down to where it would keep.
Mikhail leaned back, half a grin returning to his face like he could not stand the room being serious for longer than a minute. "We go out tonight, Daniil. I need that gift of yours. I hope it didn't vanish with your memory."
"I will try."
Alek closed the meeting with a small tip of his chin. Ivan picked up his folder. Mikhail clapped my shoulder hard enough to rattle the watch on my wrist and was gone before I could decide whether to laugh or hit him.
I walked out of the room and I kept walking.
The hallway was cold. The house was big enough that hallways had their own weather. I went past the kitchen, past the side door, and out toward the garden because that was where my feet were taking me, and I had learned not to argue with them when they wanted something.
The garden was bare. Late autumn had stripped the trees down to bone, and the grass was the dull gold it goes before the first real frost. The air in the lungs was sharp in a way that felt clean.
I saw her before she saw me.
Chloe was sitting on the low stone bench by the path, her left leg stretched out. One of the house guards, a kid named Pyotr I had hired in the spring and until this moment thought of as reliable, knelt in front of her. He had her bare foot in his hand. His other hand was on her ankle.
The heat that had cooled in the meeting room came back fast and high. It moved up under my skin in a sheet. My hand closed at my side without my say. Some part of me, the calm part, the planning part, the seat at the table part, went very quiet. Some other part, older, the part with the scar at the temple, opened one eye.
Mine.
I made my feet keep their normal pace. I made my voice keep its normal place.
"What is happening?"
Pyotr's head snapped up. He let go of her foot like it was hot.
Rhea appeared from behind the bench with leaves in her hair and a stick in her hand. Seven years old, two braids, and acting like she was lawyer for the defense.
"Brother, do not be mad. We were playing tag. I was it. Chloe ran, she slipped on the wet grass, her foot went sideways, and Pyotr helped her sit and he was checking if it was broken. I told him to. So if you have to be mad, be mad at me."
She delivered all of that in one breath. She was very proud of it.
Chloe's eyes were on my face. She knew. I could see her clocking my jaw, the line of my shoulders, the place my hand was. She did not say a word. She just gave me a small, careful smile.
I looked at Pyotr.
"Hands off, and back to your post."
He was already up. "Yes, sir."
