“Leon and Markov.”
Damian ordered them brought in.
Both men confirmed Viktor’s story. They had found the burned uniform and an overturned medical case in a narrow chamber behind the east staircase. Viktor had picked it up before realizing liquid had spilled inside.
The explanation was reasonable.
Too reasonable.
Damian trusted no one.
He ordered Viktor confined to the library until the substance on his sleeve could be tested.
The guard’s face tightened.
“I have protected you for fourteen years.”
“And if you are innocent, you will protect me for one more hour by obeying.”
Viktor lowered his head.
“Yes, sir.”
As the guards escorted him away, Lila watched him carefully.
Then she signed something to me.
He is scared.
“Of Damian?” I asked.
She shook her head.
Of the wall.
I followed her gaze.
The wall beside the door was covered with dark wood panels. Nothing seemed unusual.
Damian noticed my expression.
“What did she say?”
I told him.
He stared at the paneling.
“Move the cabinet.”
Two guards pushed aside a narrow bookcase.
Behind it was a thin vertical seam.
A hidden door.
Damian’s face turned cold.
“That passage was not on the original plans.”
The guards opened it.
A breath of damp air entered the room.
The narrow corridor beyond was unlit. Dust covered the floor except for one set of fresh footprints.
Small footprints.
The fake nurse’s.
But they did not lead away from Damian’s room.
They led toward it.
Someone had been using the passage to enter his room at night.
Dr. Petrov searched the opening and found a tiny glass vial lodged beneath the edge of the panel.
The label had been removed.
The liquid inside matched the poison in Damian’s blood.
For the first time, I understood the true scale of what was happening.
The traitor did not merely have access to the mansion.
The traitor knew its hidden rooms.
Its schedules.
Its security.
Its master.
Damian ordered everyone removed except me and Lila.
When the door closed, he reached for the cloth rabbit.
“Your daughter saved my life twice today.”
I folded my arms tightly.
“And now I want the truth.”
“About what?”
“About Noah. About the warehouse. About why you reacted when I said his name.”
Damian leaned back against the pillows.
For several seconds, he appeared to weigh the danger of speaking.
Then he said, “Three years ago, I discovered someone inside my organization was selling weapons to men who trafficked children through the harbor.”
My stomach turned.
“I ordered the operation shut down.”
“Your operation?”
“No. Someone was using my shipping routes without permission.”
“You expect me to believe you cared?”
His eyes flashed.
“I have done things you would hate me for. But there are lines even men like me do not cross.”
He looked toward Lila.
“Children are one of them.”
The storm rattled the windows.
Damian continued.
“I needed proof before accusing members of my own council. A technician contacted me. He said he had repaired a security system at the harbor and discovered hidden recordings.”
“Noah.”
Damian nodded.
“He copied the files.”
My breath left me.
“He told me he was working nights.”
“He was trying to protect you.”
“What happened?”
“We arranged to meet at the warehouse.”
His voice grew quieter.
“Someone learned about it.”
The images came violently: Noah leaving our apartment in his gray work jacket, kissing Lila’s forehead, promising to bring pancakes the next morning.
He never returned.
“The fire was not an accident,” I whispered.
“No.”
“You knew.”
“I suspected.”
“You let me believe faulty wiring killed him.”
“I did not know your name. He never told me where you lived.”
“You could have found us.”
“I tried.”
Anger burned through my grief.
“You are Damian Volkov. You find anyone.”
“Not when someone erases them first.”
He gestured toward Lila’s hearing device.
“Your daughter’s medical records disappeared after the fire. So did your husband’s employment history. Someone wanted his family invisible.”
My knees weakened.
I sat in the chair beside the bed.
“Why?”
“Because they believed Noah gave you the evidence.”
“He gave me nothing.”
“Perhaps he hid it without telling you.”
“I searched everything after he died.”
“Did you?”
His eyes moved toward the cloth rabbit.
A chill crawled over my skin.
“No.”
I crossed the room and picked up Bunny.
The toy had belonged to Lila since the week before the fire. Noah brought it home from work, claiming he found it in a gift shop. I had washed it dozens of times. Repaired its ear. Replaced the stuffing.
But the blue ribbon around its neck had never been removed.
My fingers trembled as I untied it.
Something hard rested inside the knot.
A tiny metal object fell into my palm.
A memory card.
Damian stared at it.
The room seemed to stop breathing.
