Page 9 of Captured By the Pakhan

"Because you're going to do it again whether I tell you to or not, and I'd rather you didn't get caught." I tear the roll in half. "Why are you here, Sergei?"

He blinks. "You know my name?"

"Somebody said it in the hall last night. When they took me into custody."

He processes that. Then he says, all in one breath: "Why did a woman like you come into our house?"

That causes me to pause, it’s my turn to stare at him now. I blink rapidly, trying to comprehend what exactly it is that he is asking me.

"Because it's my job."

"Women don't—" He stops himself. Starts over, carefully. "Andrei says the people who broke in were soldiers."

"Andrei's not wrong, well not completely." I chew, motioning with my hand. "There are about eight hundred of us who do what I do. Roughly a hundred and forty are women. We're not soldiers, we're police, technically, although the paperwork's different and the hours are worse."

"You're police?"

"I'm a supervisory special agent. That means I run the team." I catch myself. "Ran — It isn’t looking optimistic right now."

He inches away from the door. Not much. A foot back inside, maybe.

"Last night you said your name is Raven."

"I did."

"That's not a real name."

"It absolutely is a real name. It's on a federal ID and everything." I point the roll at him. "How old are you?"

"Ten. Almost eleven."

"When's your birthday?"

"February."

"It's March. That's not almost eleven, that's just barely ten, and you've been telling people 'almost eleven' since about January, haven't you."

Something happens at the corner of his mouth. It's not a smile, but it's close to one.

"How's the arm?" I ask, pointing to the bandage.

The almost-smile goes as fast as it appeared. He looks down at the sling. "It itches."

"Good. That means it’s healing. It's supposed to be miserable." I set the roll down. "Sergei. I need to say something to you, and then I'm not going to bring it up again unless you want to talk about it. What happened in that hallway was my responsibility. I was in charge. That means everything that happened is on me, including the part I didn't order them to do, and didn't want to happen. What happened to you — well, it should never have happened in the first place."

He's quiet a long moment.

"Papa says the man who shot me is going to be found."

I'll bet he does.

"Does the — " He stops. Starts again, quieter. "Does it happen to you? The thing where you can't get air?"

And there it is, that sideways entry into a hard topic in the way only kids ask.

"Yeah, sometimes." I admit. "Twice. It's not the same as yours; mine was one bad night, and yours has been a while, but I know what it is."

"How long have you⁠—"