“He didn’t give a name,” the nurse replies. “He said you’d understand.”
I step into the corridor. The lights are too bright for this hour. The hallway smells of disinfectant and boiled cabbage drifting from the service wing.
He’s standing near the far window. Mid-fifties. Dark suit. No overcoat, even though it’s cold outside. He isn’t on his phone. He turns when he hears my steps.
“Mr. Sokolov,” he says.
Not Dominik. He uses the name on the admission form.
“You’ve had a long night,” he continues. “There’s no need for it to stretch further.”
I don’t answer.
He studies my face once, quickly, taking in the dried blood at my collar and the stiffness in my stance.
“You’ve made your point,” he says. “The slate will be cleaned. You and your wife will be left out of what follows.”
Left out.
Not forgiven. Not excused. Removed.
Behind me, I hear the soft click of the door opening. Ana stands in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame. The man notices her. His gaze settles on her for half a second, then returns to me.
“She’s not in play,” he says plainly. “No claim stands. None will be considered.”
There it is. I hold his stare.
“And the rest?” I ask.
“That will resolve internally,” he replies.
He adjusts his cuff.
“One more thing,” he adds.
My spine tightens.
“You were found quickly.”
He lets that sit between us.
“We would rather not repeat that.”
He nods once and walks past me toward the stairwell, no escort, no hurry. I stand there a moment longer, listening to his steps fade. When I turn back toward the room, Ana is watching me.
“They know,” she says.
“Yes,” I answer.
The corridor feels smaller now. The ledger moved the room. But the council is still standing.
32
EPILOGUE
ANA
We’re somewhere off the grid, but not in the wild. It’s the kind of place that pretends to be rustic, but every fixture is custom, every lock reinforced, and the floor doesn’t creak no matter where you step. Dominik didn’t say how long it took to vet it. I didn’t ask.
