Frustration builds inside me until I want to scream. Instead, I walk to the dresser where my jewelry box sits.
I open it carefully, running my fingers over each piece. The necklace with its small pendant. The earrings that catch the light. The bracelet my mother wore every day until she died. And the brooch, the one that held the note that led us to the field.
I pick up each piece, examining them closely. Looking for what, I don't know. Another hidden compartment? Another clue? But there's nothing. Just jewelry. Just memories of a woman I barely remember and a life that feels like it belonged to someone else.
I'm about to close the box when I notice one of the icons. It's a small piece, a locket, really, with an image of a saint painted on the front. I've had it my whole life, but I've never really looked at it. Not closely.
I pick it up, turning it over in my fingers. The back is smooth, worn from years of handling. But the shape of it, the irregular edges, they look familiar. Like they might fit into something.
Before I can examine it further, there's a knock at the door. I quickly put the locket back in the box and close the lid.
The door opens, and a guard I don't recognize steps inside. He's young, maybe mid-twenties, with dark hair and a scar above his left eyebrow. He doesn't look at me directly, just gestures toward the hallway.
"The Pakhan wants to see you," he says, his accent thick.
My stomach tightens. It's late, well past dinner time. Why does Andrey want to see me now?
I follow the guard through the maze of hallways, down the grand staircase, and toward a part of the estate I haven't been to before. We stop in front of a set of double doors, and the guard pushes them open.
The library.
It's massive, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining every wall. A fireplace crackles in the corner, casting warm light across the room. And in front of that fireplace is a table with two chairs, and spread across that table are the puzzle pieces.
Andrey stands when I enter, his blue eyes finding mine immediately. He's changed since this afternoon, now wearing jeans and a black sweater. I catch the scent of his cologne as I move closer.
"Mariya," he says, his voice low. "Thank you for coming."
Like I had a choice.
The beast is standing by the window, his massive frame silhouetted against the darkening sky. He doesn't turn when I enter, but I know he's aware of every move I make. He's always watching, always ready.
"What's this about?" I ask, stopping a few feet from the table.
Andrey gestures to the puzzle pieces. "I thought we could work on this together. Two heads are better than one, right?"
I move closer, looking down at the scattered pieces. He's organized them somewhat, grouping similar colors and patterns together. But there are so many of them, and they're all so small.
"This could take hours," I say.
"Then we'd better get started." He pulls out a chair for me, and after a moment's hesitation, I sit.
He takes the seat across from me, and we begin. It's tedious work, picking up piece after piece, trying to find edges that match. The silence between us is heavy, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the occasional sound of a piece clicking into place.
I'm surprised by how focused Andrey is. His long fingers move with precision, testing connections and discarding pieces that don't fit. There's something almost meditative about watching him work, the way his brow furrows in concentration and how his jaw tightens when a piece doesn't fit where he thought it would.
"You're good at this," I say after a while.
He glances up, a small smile playing at his lips. "I like puzzles. Always have."
"Is that why you became a Pakhan? Because you like solving problems?"
His smile fades. "Something like that."
We work in silence for another hour, slowly building the puzzle outward from the center. A pattern begins to emerge, something that looks like text, but it's still too fragmented to read.
I'm reaching for another piece when I notice something. A gap in the puzzle, a space where a piece should fit but doesn't. The shape is distinctive, irregular, with a curved edge on one side and a sharp point on the other.
My breath catches. I know that shape.
