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“Tomas?”

“New guy. Kitchen.” I shrug. “Just making conversation.”

Artem nods, moving on to something else, and the moment passes without either of us giving it any more weight than that.

I almost bring it up again on the walk back to my room and decide against it, the whole thing already feeling smaller than it did this afternoon, small enough that I can’t even remember by the time I reach my door exactly what had bothered me about it in the first place.

I go to bed after scrolling through the pictures of Poppy my brother sent me, still blissfully unaware of how my life has been the last couple of months. I then start thinking about nothing bigger than what to read next, and whether I’m tired because of the baby or because everything else has finally caught up with me. Artem comes in later, careful not to wake me, the mattress dipping under his weight while I keep my eyes closed anyway. His hand finds mine under the blanket before I fall asleep holding it, and I don’t stir again until morning.

23

ARTEM

Yuri finds me in the study, and the look on his face tells me right away, before he says a word, that whatever this is, it isn’t good news.

“Tomas has a phone he shouldn’t have.” He closes the door behind him. “Not the one we issued him. A second one, burner style, hidden in his room.”

“How’d you find it?” I ask.

“Routine sweep. I check new hires’ quarters the first month.” He crosses to the desk, sets a phone down in front of me, screen cracked, clearly handled roughly. “Found texts. Nothing explicit, but enough. Times. Locations in the house. Details about her that have nothing to do with kitchen work.”

I pick up the phone and scroll through what’s there, and the pieces fall into place fast. Times Harper’s left her room. A rough sketch of the house layout, more detailed than any new hire should be able to draw after two weeks. A message asking for confirmation on whether she’s pregnant, sent three days ago, unanswered.

I read the message over and over again, the words not changing no matter how many times I run them past my eyes, each read only tightening the cold settling into my chest a little further.

“Where is he now?”

“Locked in the storage room off the kitchen right now. Marek’s watching the door.” Yuri’s jaw tightens. “I didn’t touch him yet. I wanted you to see this first.”

I set the phone down and stand. “Bring him to the basement room. I’ll be down in five minutes.”

Yuri nods once and leaves without another word.

I take those five minutes standing at the window, looking out at a property I thought I’d secured well enough weeks ago, running through every possible way this happened.

Someone let him in. Someone vetted him, or didn’t vet him properly, or looked the other way for reasons I haven’t uncovered yet. That’s a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, there’s only one problem that matters.

I think about the conversation I had with myself weeks ago, telling myself the leak would eventually lead somewhere I could act on. It has. I just didn’t expect it to arrive wrapped in a threat this direct, this close to Harper.

Tomas is sitting in a chair when I walk into the basement room, wrists zip-tied behind him, Yuri standing close enough to remind him what happens if he decides to be difficult. He looks younger under the bare light down here—younger and considerably less composed than he must have been walking through my kitchen every day pretending to belong. His shirt’s damp at the collar with sweat, not water, and he hasn’t been down here long enough for the room itself to account for it.

I pull a second chair over and sit across from him, taking my time before I say anything at all. He watches me do it, eyes flicking to Yuri and back, some part of him already understanding that the calm is worse than shouting would be.

“You know why you’re here.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice shakes on the last word, betraying him before he’s even finished the sentence.

I set the phone down on the table beside him, screen still lit with the message he never answered. “Who are you reporting to?”

His eyes track between Yuri and me, calculating something, some last hope that this ends better than he already knows it will. I’ve seen that look before, on other men, in other rooms, and it never once changed how the conversation ended, no matter how long they held onto it.

“I don’t know anything about that phone.”

“You’re lying to me in a room where lying doesn’t help you.” I keep my voice level and flat; no threat needed in the tone, because the situation itself is threat enough. “I’ll ask once more. Who placed you here?”

The silence stretches longer this time, and I watch something in him start to crack around the edges, his breathing picking up, his composure sliding.

“Sokolov.” The name comes out barely above a whisper, like saying it any louder might make the whole situation more real than he can currently handle. “They wanted confirmation that a woman was living here. Details on her, whatever I could get without drawing attention.”