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“Ivan,” he says.
“Still here,” I reply. “Still alive.”
Kuzmo is holding the phone to my ear. I’m not allowed to touch it, even under the scrutiny of all these men.
“Are you well, brother?” Dom says.
“Of course. And you?”
“Very well. Business runs smooth. The deposit will be sent as usual.”
“Good, thank you. I keep busy here, too. Reading in the morning. Then,” a short pause, “I spend evenings exercising so no opportunity wastes.”
“Good, brother. Keep it up,” Dom says.
Kuzmo pulls the phone away before I can say anything else.
No matter. I told Dominik what I needed to say.
Marko is watching me as always, meaty arms folded across his chest.
He was always a big man, and he’s grown softer with age—a layer of fat over what was once hard muscle. Still, he could break the back of any man here, save for one.
“Until next month, my friend,” Marko says.
“I look forward to it,” I reply.
Kuzmo unlocks the cuffs.
I return to my place on the bed, picking up my paperback once more.
Marko is the last to depart my cell, closing the door himself with an echoing clang.
The sound is dismal and cold.
But there’s a fire in my chest that had burned down to an ember, now stoked anew.
I managed to pass a message to Dom, with a piece of information that might be useful to Sloane in her search.
I do this every month, if I’ve observed anything about the prison or the guards that might help her to find me.
It’s a simple code, the first letter of each word forming its own sentence:
I
Spend
Evenings
Exercising
So
No
Opportunity
Wastes
