Chapter Twenty-Five: The Inheritance of ShadowsEmma VolkovElena Marchesi did not speak again for several minutes.She let the silence settle the way someone might set a blade on a table—not threatening, but deliberate enough that you never forgot it was there.The gallery around us continued to exist in its careful, curated stillness. Paintings watched from their frames. Sculptures held their impossible balances. Wealth disguised itself as taste.I waited.Not patiently.I simply refused to show impatience.There is a difference, and people like Elena always noticed it.Finally, she turned from the window.“You’re asking the wrong question,” she said.I didn’t react. “That’s becoming a theme.”A faint smile touched her mouth. “Good. It means you’re close.”I studied her.“Close to what?”“To realizing this was never about Viktor Sokolov.”The words landed cleanly.No theatrics.No hesitation.Just fact, delivered like a diagnosis.Behind me, the city outside continued its indifferen
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