The call came at seven in the morning.Dave’s phone, not the mansion’s line, not Ryan’s number, not any contact he recognised. A Kings City number he had never seen before. He looked at it for a moment on the nightstand screen.Ryan was in the bathroom. Dave could hear the shower running.He answered.“Mr Sun,” the voice said.Older. Polished. The particular register of a man who had spent decades in rooms where his voice carried weight and knew how to use it. Controlled in the way that people were controlled when control was not an effort but a habit.Dave sat up on the edge of the bed. “Volkov,” he said.A brief pause. “You’re sharper than I expected,” Volkov said. “Ryan Blood has taught you well.”“What do you want,” Dave said.“A conversation,” Volkov said. “Brief, direct, and entirely between us. Mr Blood doesn’t need to know we’ve spoken.”“He’ll know,” Dave said. “I’ll tell him the moment this call ends.”“That’s your choice,” Volkov said. “Make it after you’ve heard what I ha
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