I agree to do the test immediately. There’s no reason to wait. Delay never helps.
The nurse sets up the tray. Mila stiffens as soon as she sees the needle, even though it’s meant for me. I take her hands and keep my voice level.
“It’ll be quick.”
She fixes her eyes on my face as the needle goes in. I glance at Ana once. Her face has drained of color, and she holds herself very still.
The nurse is done in under a minute. She tapes a small plaster over the puncture and tells me to keep my arm bent. I nod and stay still until Mila relaxes again.
Afterward, I tell Ana to wait near the front desk with Mila. I say it casually, like it’s about paperwork. She nods without arguing. I turn back into the clinic and walk toward the administrative offices.
The lab desk is where it always is, a small glass booth with a woman who runs the line without making a show of it. She knows me from the clinic, and that helps.
I keep it simple and ask if they can run the samples today. I tell her it would help us. I don’t say more.
She pauses for a second, like she needs to make it official. I slip folded cash into the sleeve of the clipboard, no note, no words. The amount is enough, and the exchange stays clean.
“You’ll send the report as soon as it’s ready,” I say.
She nods and checks the screen. My details are already there.
When I walk back out, Ana is sitting with her back straight in one of the plastic chairs, Mila curled against her side now, worn out after the wait.
Mila looks up when she sees me and lifts her head.
“Can we go home now?” she asks.
I tell her we’re done here for today and we’re going home.
On the drive back, Mila dozes and Ana stays quiet. I don’t push her. My head keeps working through it, one step after another. Gleb’s words are still stuck in my mind.
They’re not moving yet. They’re watching and waiting. That means the first real move still matters, and if I wait too long, they get to set it.
I keep thinking about the ledger. It’s not just numbers on a page. It has names, dates, approvals, and a record of who signed off on what. It shows who worked with whom, who owed what, and what got done when money wasn’t enough.
If it comes out, it won’t stop with one man. It reaches into the deals holding different sides together. In the wrong hands, it tears those deals apart. Used at the right time, it’s enough to force an ending.
It starts with Ana, and if I get this wrong, it ends with her.
I glance at her in the rearview mirror. She’s watching the road slide past, eyes focused on nothing in particular.
At home, Mila falls asleep almost as soon as we get her settled. I pull the blanket up around her and step back. Ana stays a second longer, smoothing Mila’s hair, then she slips out.
A little later, I smell butter and sugar from the kitchen. Cupboards open and close. She’s baking, doing something she knows by heart.
“Cookies?” I ask from the doorway.
“For Mila,” Ana says without turning.
“For you too,” she adds after a beat.
I step in and pull the flour bin down from the shelf, then pass her the vanilla. We work without talking, my hands brushing her hips as she stretches for the sugar on the top rack. She leans back into me, her body fitting against my chest while she reaches.
She’s slender and unguarded in the movement, graceful in a way that stops me cold, and I have to force myself not to stare.
Her scent hits me, warm and familiar, and I lift her just enough so she can grab the sugar. A quick breath slips out of her, more sound than laugh, and her fingers curl in my shirt for balance. I set her back down slowly, my hands lingering on her back for a moment longer.
Mila wakes to the sound of the oven and pads in, still half-asleep. Ana pipes cream onto the cookies, shaping them into small, uneven figures. Mila watches, delighted, and coos softly when she recognizes what they are meant to be.
