Page 77 of No One’s Daughter

​More than I probably should.

​She lingered a step behind me, hands tucked into the sleeves of the leather jacket she’d stolen from me a week ago. It was far too big for her, but a small part of me—okay, a huge part of me—liked how she looked in it, so I didn’t fight her on the theft.

​The door cracked open just enough for a single eye to peer through.

​“Nikolai,” I said.

​There was a beat of silence.

​“You alone?”

​“No.”

​Another pause, longer this time. His eyes shifted, trying to see past me. “You were followed?”

​“No. She’s with me.”

​Silence stretched once more. Then the door opened wider, just enough for him to step into view.

​Niko looked much the same as he always had—short blond hair, sharp features half-hidden beneath a carefully neutral expression, clothes that were stylish without standing out.

​His gaze flicked between Ailsa and I, then he abruptly stepped aside. “Get in.”

​We didn’t hesitate.

​The door shut quickly behind us, locks sliding into place one after another.

​The flat itself was small, basement level. Low ceilings with the faint smell of damp clinging to the mismatched furniture that had clearly been here a decade too long. Papers were scattered across a small table, maps pinned to one wall with markings that meant nothing to anyone but him.

​Temporary.

​Niko turned back to me, tension easing from him as recognition settled properly into his features.

​“Well,” he said, a crooked smile finally breaking through. “You look like shit.”

​“Good to see you too,” I drawled. Why does everyone always say that to me?

​He stepped forward, pulling me into a brief clasp of the shoulder before stepping back again, his attention shifting past me.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“Sorry, yeah,” I said, glancing back at her. “This is Ailsa.”

She gave a small, slightly awkward lift of her hand.

Niko smiled at her. “Ailsa,” he repeated. “Pleasure.”

Then his gaze slid back to me. “What can I help you with, old friend?”

Old friend wasn’t an exaggeration, I’d known Niko for over six centuries at this point. More than enough time to learn what a man valued. What he feared and what he would—and wouldn’t—risk. He was an interesting character—a turned one, like myself—but he’d somehow always managed to avoid the Ninth.

​How he’d managed that I wasn’t sure, but they were his secrets to keep.

And Niko had more than most. He moved between worlds. Smuggled things that shouldn’t exist. Carried knowledge, objects… sometimes people. All thanks to a device gifted to him by his maker long ago.

A dangerous thing.

Rare.