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I study the angle. The courtyard sits near the center of the estate, surrounded by the chapel, the family wing, and two covered passages.

“This was taken from inside,” I say. “Above the chapel passage.”

The guard nods. “Abramov’s men are checking the roof now.”

My radio crackles before he finishes.

“We found it,” Abramov says. “A battery-powered cellular camera clipped beneath the copper drain.”

“When was it placed?”

“Last night. The scrape marks are fresh.”

“The intruder from the pool passage?”

“The drain was on his route to the family rooms. It would’ve taken seconds.”

I look at the photograph. “They knew where I would move Misha if the attack failed.”

“Someone inside gave them the family-security plan,” Abramov says. “The same person may have arranged the plumbing visit.”

“And someone inside printed the photograph and carried it to the gate.”

Abramov’s voice hardens. “Which means he’s still here.”

I look at the photograph again. Belov’s side had the family-security plan. They knew which suite I would choose after the attack and placed the camera before Vera and Misha moved there.

The edge of the photograph bends beneath my thumb.

I look toward the locked suite door, then back at the photograph. Two seventeen this afternoon. I turn it over.

Someone has written in ink, The heir photographs well.

23

VERA

Abramov clears the west wing three days after the breach.

He replaces every access panel, pulls the wiring from the walls, rebuilds the camera loop, and makes each guard scan in twice before entering the protected corridor. The service entrance remains sealed behind a steel plate. The medical bay gets a new lock, the pool passage gets two, and the short inner hall beyond Alexei’s office now has a pressure sensor beneath the floor.

We pack our bags after lunch. Misha sits on the edge of his bed in the inner family suite, clutching the green dinosaur beneath one arm while Oksana folds his bear sweaters into a case.

“I don’t want old room,” he says.

“It isn’t old,” I tell him, closing the drawer. “It’s the room you had before.”

“Misha likes this one.”

“Your other room has cars.”

“This one has courtyard.”

I look through the broad windows. The enclosed courtyard is damp from morning rain, and the bulbs still hang along the walls. The small citrus trees stand beside the covered sofa, and Misha’s fingerprints remain on the glass near the door.

I will miss it too.

Alexei enters with his radio in one hand and a file beneath his arm. Earlier, he showed me the photograph of Misha in the courtyard with Cara, Elena, and me. The camera had been clipped beneath a copper drain above the chapel passage. Abramov’s team removed it for forensic testing.