Mag-log inSvetlana showed up at eleven-thirty with a paper bag of sandwiches and immediately started looking at the wrong wall.Katya was in the middle of a measurement on the east window sill, balancing the tape with her knee the way she'd done a thousand times, when she heard footsteps she recognised and looked up to find her sister standing twenty feet away in the courtyard, neck craned back, staring at the west side of the building with her hand shading her eyes."That wall has a problem," Svetlana said, without looking at her."Good morning to you too.."The stone there." Svetlana pointed. "The third row from the top on the right section. The fill between two of the blocks looks wrong. Different colour than the rest."Katya looked. She saw what Svetlana was pointing at. It was a difference of maybe three shades, something you'd miss if you weren't looking for it."Late repair," Katya said. "Nineteen-forties probably. Non-original material, we know about it.""Okay, but if the fill is alrea
The meeting Irina wasn't supposed to know about happened on a Tuesday at two in the afternoon in a private dining room above a restaurant on the east side of the city.She knew about it anyway, because she had sources and Gregor did not know about all of them. One of the waitstaff at that restaurant had a sister who ran a supply account with Volkov shipping. Small connections. Irina had spent twelve years building a web of small connections, and right now that web was telling her things she did not enjoy knowing.Three men in that room: Gregor Malshin, regional council chair, sixty-one years old, a wolf who had been building quiet power in this region for two decades by finding other people's soft spots and pressing on them. Beside him, the Petrov pack representative, young, nervous, mostly there because Gregor had something over his family going back eight years. And across the table, two senior wolves from the Shashin pack, who had wanted a larger cut of the river trade routes for t
She put the envelope on the kitchen table and sat down and read it a third time.She wasn't sure what she was looking for on the third read. The first time had been enough to understand it. The second time had been her checking that she'd understood correctly. The third time was something else — her brain needing to go over the words slowly, one at a time, and let each one land before moving to the next.99.9%.Dmitri Volkov. Her boys.She'd known. She'd known from the first morning at the monastery when she'd turned around and seen his face across the courtyard and then looked at her sons and the comparison had been so obvious, so right there, that she'd had to breathe through it before she could move. The amber of Niko's eyes, the way Ivan tilted his head when he was thinking — she'd looked at those things every day for four years and seen her own colouring and told herself that was all she was seeing.She'd known and she'd filed it under not right now and not dealing with this toda
The envelope arrived at nine in the morning and he left it on his desk until eleven.He knew what it was. He'd been waiting for four days since he'd sent the samples to the pack doctor's private lab — no hospital record, no shared system, just a clean result delivered to him and no one else. He'd done this because Katya didn't need to find out through a document that had gone through half a dozen hands before reaching her. She'd find out because he told her.He worked until eleven. He read the Helsinki manifest. He answered two messages from the Riga office. He looked at the border patrol report Irina had left on his desk. He did all of it normally, efficiently, one thing after the other.At eleven he opened the envelope.One page. Lab letterhead. Technical information across the top half that he read quickly. A number at the bottom.99.9%.He put the page down on his desk. He put both hands flat, one on either side of it, and looked at it.He had known. He'd known from the first mome
Dmitri's going to be my friend."Niko said it the way he said most things — right in the middle of breakfast, between bites, like he was reporting the weather.Katya had been lifting her coffee cup. She put it back down."What?""He's going to be my friend," Niko said. He had porridge on his chin and full confidence in his eyes. "I decided last night.""That's not really how friendship works, Niko. You don't just decide."He looked at her like she'd said something puzzling. "Yes you do. I decided Leo was going to be my friend at the last school and then he was. I decided Maya was going to be my friend at the park and then she was. That's how I do it.""Leo and Maya are four years old. Dmitri is a grown man.""So?" He ate another spoonful. "You're grown and you're my friend.""I'm your mother.""You're both," he said, like this was obvious, and went back to his porridge.Katya opened her mouth. Closed it. She looked across the table at Ivan, who was eating his toast in the careful, met
The second cup had been on her site table every morning for three days.The first morning she'd noticed it and assumed one of the workers had left an extra. Then she'd seen him come through the east wing archway with two paper cups and set one down at her end of the table and she'd understood. She'd said nothing. She'd kept working.The second morning she'd arrived before him and the table had been empty and she'd felt the absence of the second cup before she could stop herself from feeling it, which was information she did not want to have and filed away quickly under not thinking about this.The third morning she sat down and drank her own coffee and looked at her blueprint for the west courtyard drainage and thought about water flow and load-bearing walls and the specific challenge of a building that had been patched and re-patched across four centuries. She thought about the work. She did not think about the second cup.He came at seven forty-five. Same as the previous two days. T
Mama. Mama. Mama.""Ivan.""Mama.""Ivan, I can hear you.""The trees are getting bigger."Katya opened one eye. She'd been attempting to read the same page of her site notes for forty minutes. Outside the train window, the landscape had shifted completely — no more city, no more flat grey suburbs.
The letter sat on her kitchen table for three days before she opened it.Not because she forgot it was there. She saw it every morning when she made coffee, every evening when she fed the boys, every night when she sat down to work. Thick cream envelope, city council seal, her name typed neatly acr
Eight months and Katya had a system.Six-fifteen: wake up before the boys, shower in under four minutes, coffee on. Six-thirty: get two extremely opinionated toddlers dressed — Niko fought every item of clothing like it had personally wronged him; Ivan cooperated but required narration of every ste
It happened on a Tuesday. Three weeks before her due date, eleven-fourteen at night, and Katya was still at her desk.The theater proposal had been accepted two weeks ago. She was already deep in the actual restoration plans now, logging permits, drafting supply orders, building the timeline month







