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I lower him carefully until his feet settle. “What were you doing behind the curtain?”

Misha looks up at me with wide gray-green eyes. “Watching.”

“That usually works better when the person can’t see your socks.”

Misha looks down at the dinosaur faces printed across them, then tucks one foot behind the other. “What did you do to your beard?”

“I shaved it.”

“With the little mower?” He points toward the razor and rubs one palm over his own smooth jaw.

“Electric razor.”

Misha repeats the motion, narrowing his eyes at the mirror. “It makes you less scratchy.”

“That is the purpose.”

I pick up my phone and send Lidiya a message.

Misha is with me. Tell Vera before she searches the wing.

A few minutes later, a maid leaves a basket of toy vehicles outside the bedroom door.

“Galina says papas have scratchy faces.” Misha reaches up and brushes two fingers against my chin.

I hold still. “Does she?”

He nods and rubs his jaw again. “She says my papa is tall and big and has a beard.”

“Has Galina met your father?”

Misha shakes his head. “No. She just knows.”

“Galina knows many things.”

“She says don’t tell Mama.” He cups one hand beside his mouth, though the whisper comes out louder than his speaking voice. “Mama will ask questions.”

“Is Galina afraid of your mother?”

Misha thinks about it while he crouches to retrieve the yellow car. “A little.”

“Are you?”

His head comes up at once. “No. Mama is the kindest in the whole world.”

“That is a large area.”

“She cuts my toast small.” He holds his hands apart to show the size, then frowns because the distance is much larger than any piece of toast. “And she lets me sleep on her when bad dreams come.”

I fasten the middle buttons of my shirt and leave the collar open. “Strong evidence.”

Misha copies me, pinching the front of his pajamas as if buttons hide there. “You have pictures.”

“Tattoos.”

He points at the star near my collarbone. “That one is black.”

“You continue to impress me.”