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Sergei laughs. “Don’t be foolish, Mischa. Without my help, Robert Winthorp would already be knocking down your door. My resources have kept him at bay for now. Should I reconsider?”

Mischa grits his teeth. “You—”

“Mischa!” Vanya appears from the end of a nearby hall. “We need to talk.”

“Fine, then. A minute, Sergei,” Mischa says, pushing past him. “A minute.”

“You look well enough,” Sergei says in his absence, sweeping his gaze over me. “But you and I both know that any more of this reckless foolishness and you and everyone in this house will wind up dead.”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to come with me,” he says as if such a thing would be as simple as breathing. “See your ancestral home. Learn your real place.”

I rub at my temples. It’s surreal having him speak to me like this. There’s no affection in his voice. Just desperation.

“Why should I?”

“Could you really keep your son safe here?” he asks. “With Mischa?”

Around me, the room spins and narrows as my mind goes blank. I finally notice something clutched between his fingers that I didn’t before: a crisp, square envelope.

“W-What?” My voice shakes, so faint I barely hear it.

“This is proof.” He shoves the envelope at me. “Proof that your son is still alive. And that only I can help you rescue him from Robert Winthorp.”

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