The room remained so still I could hear the rain tapping against the tall windows.
Damian Volkov held my daughter’s hand against his chest as if she had become the only thing keeping him in the world. His face, usually carved into stone even by pain, had changed.
The hardness had not disappeared, but something had cracked through it.
Fear.
Not the kind of fear that made a man beg for his life. Damian Volkov did not look like a man afraid to die.
He looked like a man afraid of being understood.
“She can hear what none of you can,” he whispered again.
One of the guards at the door shifted uneasily. His name was Viktor, a broad-shouldered man with a shaved head and a scar running through one eyebrow. He had once frightened me so badly by simply standing behind me in the laundry corridor that I nearly dropped a basket of sheets.
Now even he looked uncertain.
“Boss?” Viktor said.
Damian’s eyes cut toward him.
“Get everyone out.”
Viktor hesitated. “Sir, the doctor said—”
“Out.”
The word was quiet, but it carried more power than a shout.
The guards stepped back immediately. I reached for Lila, still trembling from the thought of what might have happened. She was so small beside him, her yellow boots dangling above the floor, her rabbit pressed between her knees. She looked from Damian’s face to mine, sensing the tension but not understanding all of it.
“I’ll take her,” I said softly. “We’ll leave now.”
“No.” Damian’s hand tightened over Lila’s, though not enough to hurt her. “You stay.”
