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The associate chatters on about thread counts and organic materials, about how important it is for brain development to have high-contrast colors in the early months, and Alana nods along, asking appropriate questions about washability and safety standards while I trail behind them, my mind still back in Moscow where my brother's fighting for control of an empire I abandoned.

When my phone buzzes, I pull it out, expecting another update from Maksim about the body count or perhaps a message from work asking if I can cover a shift tomorrow, but the words on the screen freeze the blood in my veins.

Maksim: 3:12PM: There've been reports that you might be in St. Pete, buddy. Someone knows where you are, but I don't think they zeroed in on your names yet. Might wanna make some moves.

My hand tightens, and I feel the world start shifting immediately as the reality of the message sinks in. If someone has traced the fake identities and connected the dots between our past and our present, we're not safe here. All the precautions we took, all the new accounts and the hidden trails, and someone is digging us out of our hiding place.

Alana must sense the shift in the air because she turns away from the sales associate, her smile faltering as she looks at my face. "What is it?" she asks, fear already creeping into her voice.

"It's nothing." My eyes shift, and I shove the phone into my pocket as I look up at the sales lady. "Do you have those in yellow too?" I ask, feigning interest. But my mind is back in Moscow now, where I should be, and it might just be time to go back.

The problem will be convincing Alana to go with me.

28

ALANA

The bus drops me off at the corner three blocks from our apartment, and I waddle toward home. The baby's dropped lower into my pelvis, making every step feel like I’m carrying a bowling ball between my thighs.

My restoration project at the old church wrapped up early since we’re just waiting on the stained glass delivery, and I’m looking forward to getting off my feet and putting them up while I wait for Dimitri to get home from his double shift.

The oppressive late-summer heat has settled over Komarovo like a wet wool blanket and I’m dreaming about the bottle of cold water waiting in our fridge when I notice the car parked across from our building.

It’s a dark sedan, nothing fancy—Russian plates that look local—but something about it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. No one in this neighborhood drives a dark car like that, and my gut churns at the memory of how men in our world always drive cars like that. It makes my skin prick with awareness.

I fumble for my keys in my purse and feel someone's eyes on me, which only makes me fumble more. It's a sensation I know well, having grown up with security surrounding me at every turn. It's not something you forget easily. So I glance over my shoulder, casually like I’m just checking traffic, and see a figure in the driver’s seat silhouetted against the afternoon sun.

I can’t make out features to tell if it’s a man or a woman, but they’re sitting too still, watching too intently. My heart starts hammering and I turn away quickly, telling myself I’m being paranoid, that it’s just a neighbor waiting for someone or a delivery driver killing time. But my hands are shaking as I unlock the main door and step into the lobby.

I climb the stairs to our apartment as quickly as my swollen ankles will allow, and once I’m inside with the deadbolt thrown and the chain latched, I lean on the door and try to catch my breath. No one followed me into the building, but I can’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. I'm afraid someone knows where we are, and the careful life we’ve built here is about to come crumbling down.

I rush through the apartment, checking the locks on the windows and pulling the curtains closed, but I keep seeing that silhouette in my mind and freaking out. It could've been anyone. Maybe I'm just paranoid, or maybe pregnancy hormones are making me jumpy. But I know that car didn’t belong here, and I know that whoever was sitting in it was waiting for something.

And Dimitri's been acting strange since yesterday when we came home from the baby store. He was quiet during the drive back and kept checking his phone when he thought I wasn’t looking. I know something's bothering him but he hasn’t wanted to talk about it. I wonder if it has anything to do with this, which only makes me that much more agitated.

By the time Dimitri gets home, I’ve managed to calm my breathing but my hands are still sweaty and shaky as I stand at the stove, stirring a pot of borscht for dinner. Usually, the familiar motions of chopping and stirring center me, but today I’m just going through the motions as my eyes dart to the window every few minutes to check the street below.

He comes through the door at a quarter past six, looking exhausted with his tie loosened and his hair sticking up where he’s been running his hands through it. He smiles when he sees me standing there in my apron with the wooden spoon in my hand, and I almost feel bad for what I'm going to have to tell him. My imagination or not, he needs to know what I saw.

"Hey," he says, dropping his bag by the door and coming up behind me to wrap his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder. "Something smells good."

I lean back into him for a moment, letting his solid warmth anchor me, but I can't wait another second. I pull away and turn down the burner so it doesn't burn, then face him. I need to tell him before I lose my nerve.

"There was someone watching the building today," I blurt out. I've learned with Dimitri, it's better to be more like my sister Natalia who says whatever the hell comes to mind in the moment than to beat around the bush like I normally do. "When I got home from work, I saw a dark sedan parked across the street, and there was a person in the driver’s seat just sitting there, watching the entrance."

Dimitri stills, and I can feel the shift in his energy, the way he goes from tired boyfriend to alert protector in the span of a heartbeat. "Did you get a look at them?" he asks, as his hands rise to my biceps and he studies my face. "License plate? Make of the car?" I haven't heard him use this tone in months, not since we settled here and assumed new identities.

I shake my head and feel the color drain from my cheeks. I know he doesn’t mean it, but I feel like he's accusing me of something. "I couldn’t see the plate from where I was standing, and the windows were tinted. It was just a dark car, maybe black or dark blue. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, just a silhouette. But they were watching."

"How long did you watch them?" He stomps around me to stand by the window, pulling back the curtain just an inch to peer down at the street below. "Did they follow you from the bus stop? Did you see which direction they went?"

"I didn’t watch to find out," I tell him. Fear replaces the hint of insult and I nervously turn back to stir the food more. "I came inside and locked the door, and they were gone when I checked an hour later. I don’t know who it was, okay? I don’t know if it was some random creep or my imagination running wild."

Dimitri lets the curtain fall back into place and turns to look at me. I can see the fear in his eyes again—the same fear that’s been gnawing at me since we were shopping. He knows something and he's not telling me. "We need to increase security," he says, and he’s already pulling out his phone, scrolling through contacts. "I’m gonna call a security firm tonight, get someone stationed outside the building. And we need cameras, at least two covering the entrance and the hallway. I’ll talk to the landlord tomorrow about upgrading the locks to something with key codes instead of regular keys."

"What?" I set down the wooden spoon and fold my arms across my chest, feeling the baby shift uncomfortably at my sudden tension. "A security guard?" I ask, not believing that this is happening. "Dimitri, we can’t afford a private security guard. We’re barely making rent as it is with you working two jobs, and I’m only getting partial pay while I’m on light duty at the restoration site."

"We’ll use the savings," he says, not looking up from his phone. "This is exactly why we saved it—for emergencies. And this qualifies."