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“You are not going in.”

I look at Nikolai. He has stopped with one hand near the doorframe. He sees Irina holding my wrist. He sees me looking at him.

I know he does.

For one second, I wait. Say something.

That’s all. Just tell her to let go of me. Tell her you want me there with you.

Nikolai’s face tightens. Then he turns and goes inside. The door closes behind him.

Irina releases me. My wrist burns where her fingers were.

I stand there staring at the door, trying to make sense of the two things happening inside me at once. Anya is awake. That’s the only thing that should matter. Nikolai did what any father would do. He went to his daughter the second she asked for him.

I know that.

I know it so clearly that I hate myself for the hurt anyway.

Because he could have said one word before he went in.

Irina is shaking her head. “I’m sick of you. I’m sick of pretending any of this is normal. You’ve been nothing but trouble since you came to this family.”

“What are you trying to say?”

She sneers at me. “Stay away from my niece.”

With that she follows Nikolai into the room, even though the doctors clearly said that there should only be one person allowed at a time.

I stare at the door after Irina goes in.

For a few seconds, I genuinely don’t know what to do with myself.

Galina is sitting again, one hand pressed to her mouth, eyes fixed on the floor. The nurse has disappeared behind the doors. The men Nikolai brought with him are spread along the corridor, quiet and watchful, pretending they are not listening to every word.

I can’t stand there and cry. I can’t force my way into Anya’s room. I can’t go home

So I turn to Sergei. “You’re investigating what happened, right?” I ask.

He looks at me carefully, as if he has already guessed I’m about to say something he won’t like. “Yes.”

“And the other things too? The pool—” I swallow. “What happened today?”

He nods. “Someone pushed from behind; that’s what we think.”

“Are you sure?”

Sergei looks toward the medical doors before answering. “Her position at the bottom of the stairs. A mark on her shoulder where someone may have grabbed or shoved her. It is not certain yet, but it doesn’t look like a simple fall.”

Sergei lowers his voice. “We also found traces of boric powder on the floor near the upper landing.”

I stare at him. “What’s that?”

“A fine white powder. People use it for insects sometimes. In small amounts, it looks harmless. Dust, cleaning residue, something tracked in on a shoe.”

“What does it do?”

“On a polished floor?” His mouth tightens. “It makes the surface slippery. Not like water, not obvious enough for someone to notice immediately. But if a child steps on it half-awake, near stairs...”