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My preparations are interrupted by a sudden noise—my emergency phone vibrating on the table, flashing a coded message. It's a signal from a hidden security camera, indicating movement outside the apartment.
Pulling on my coat, I take one last look at the room. The atmosphere feels heavier, as if sensing the impending violence. For the first time in a long time, the weight feels right on my shoulders. The Ghost is back, and hell is coming with her.
Chapter 26
Roman
Striding up to the quaint house where Iosef’s aunt resides, I adjust my tailored jacket and put on my best charming smile. Samuil, ever the imposing figure, lingers a step behind me. His presence is usually enough to make anyone wary, and today, we need to disarm suspicions, not raise them.
The door creaks open, revealing a middle-aged woman with guarded eyes. She sizes us up instantly. "Can I help you?" Her voice is cautious.
I extend my hand. "Hello, ma'am, I'm Roman Nicolaevich. I used to work with Iosef. This is my brother, Samuil."
Her eyes narrow slightly as they shift to Samuil. I can see the wheels turning in her head. I preemptively put her at ease. "Don't worry about Samuil here; he may look like a mountain, but he's a teddy bear at heart. Aren't you, Samuil?"
Samuil grumbles something affirmative, managing a half-smile that softens his features just enough.
“And why are you here?” she asks, still half-hidden behind the door.
“We just wanted to find out if there is anything you might need. The company wants to take care of you, but it took us a while to track you down.”
Seemingly placated, she opens the door wider. "Well, alright. Please come in. I'll put on some tea."
Once inside, we're led to a cozy living room adorned with family photos, knickknacks, and the comforting scent of home. She offers us seats and disappears into the kitchen.
"You think she's buying it?" Samuil whispers.
"Of course she is," I say, "Building rapport is my specialty, remember?"
When she returns, she's carrying a tray laden with teacups and a plate of cookies. The tea is served in delicate china cups that look like they've seen generations. We exchange pleasantries, she talks about the weather, and I nod along. It's all part of the dance.
Finally, I steer the conversation where I want it to go. "I really am sorry it’s taken us so long to reach out to you. To see if you needed anything since Iosef’s been gone."
Her eyes meet mine, and I can see the conflict there. "Iosef has been missing for some time now," she finally says, taking a sip of her tea.
The moment is delicate, so I tread lightly. "I know. I apologize again. You know, I’ve always been a little fuzzy on the details of his disappearance."
She studies me for a long beat, and I let her. I'm the picture of openness, eyes sincere, posture relaxed. I decide to sweeten the pot just a little bit more.
"You know, Iosef was always an excellent colleague. Very reliable, always had my back during projects," I remark casually, studying her reactions as if she were a book I'm trying to read.
She meets my eyes and there's a pause, almost imperceptible but telling. "Yes, he's a very responsible man," she says, her lips curling into a soft smile.
I hide my internal celebration behind a sip of tea. The tea tastes sweet, but my victory tastes sweeter. Her choice of words, the present tense "is" instead of "was" is a game-changer.
One, it tells me Iosef is alive. I've been operating under the grim assumption that we were essentially looking for a dead man. It changes the calculus of the situation, shifts it from an unsolvable equation to a complex but solvable one.
Two, her subtle affirmation implies more than just his well-being; it implies knowledge of where he might be. It's the foothold I've been searching for, a glimmer of hope in a dark tunnel.
Samuil, of course, catches on too. I can see it in the subtle raise of his eyebrows, the slight upward curl of his lip. He's a man of few words, but his expressions speak volumes.
"I miss working with him, you know?" I continue, letting a note of vulnerability seep into my voice. "When someone you're used to seeing every day suddenly isn't there anymore, it leaves a void."
She hesitates, her eyes dropping to her tea. I can sense her inner struggle—the conflict between her protective instincts and the truth bubbling just below the surface. When she finally speaks, it's with a careful tone, as if she's choosing each word deliberately.
“I appreciate your concern for my nephew. He's a private person, but he has people who care about him. I'm sure he'd be pleased to know you're one of them."
It's a well-crafted answer, elusive yet encouraging. It tells me she won't reveal everything, not yet. But it also tells me there's something to reveal. And right now, that's enough.
