Page 72 of The Enforcer’s Pawn

I read it once, then read it again.

I asked for this access, and I hate it already. More movement means more doors, staff, guards, cameras, deliveries, and timing for someone to study. One careless person could learn her route before we catch him watching.

I want her moved to a guarded suite near my quarters, close to the secure annex, where every route can be watched and blocked fast.

Maksim summons me ten minutes later. The walk downstairs gives me time to build an argument for locking Cara unless she gives us every code she is hiding. By the time I reach his office, I know it won’t work.

Lock her out, and she’ll keep every secret she has. Give her a narrow path into the work, and she may use it just to prove she can.

Maksim’s office sits near the legal corridor, away from the live feeds and close to the files that make violence look respectable. Old wood panels cover the walls. Leather chairs face his desk. A cut-glass tumbler sits near the blotter with a thumb of whiskey left in it. Coffee steams near the window, untouched.

The Pakhan stands behind his desk when I enter.

“You want Cara moved.”

“Closer to the secure annex,” I say. “Near my quarters.”

“Different words. Same request.”

“Her status changed.” I stay where I am. “She’s part of the investigation now. Moving her limits staff exposure, reduces corridor risk, and gives us faster response if Patrick or Morozov moves again.”

Maksim listens.

“Patrick’s archive carried a beacon,” I say. “Morozov has something that makes him bolder. Cara reads Patrick faster than Yuri can pull fragments from a machine.”

“She works in the secure annex,” Maksim says. “She won’t live beside it.”

“That creates movement.”

“So does every living person in my house.” Maksim rests both hands on the desk. “You want her closer because you don’t like doors between you.”

I don’t answer fast enough.

His mouth barely moves. “That’s what I thought.”

The side door opens, and Elena steps in with a file against her chest and a baby blanket folded over one arm. I didn’t know she was there. Maksim did.

Elena looks at him first, then at me. “Cara doesn’t need tighter walls.”

Maksim’s eyes stay on mine. “She needs control.”

“She needs one steady pair of eyes that cares whether she eats, rests, and doesn’t turn herself into a weapon out of panic.” She places the blanket on a chair. Purple cloth, faded yellow ducks, a green border worn soft from use. The sight of it cuts through the office’s cold violence with something painfully domestic.

Maksim turns toward his wife. “Putting Dmitri and Cara in one wing won’t make my house calmer.”

“This isn’t about the house,” Elena says.

Maksim says nothing.

“If Cara opens to anyone here, it will be him,” Elena says. “Separating them may feel safer, but it will make her fight the walls harder.”

I keep still. Elena has done this before, in another shape, with different locks and different men calling it protection. Maksim hears that. He doesn’t like it, but he hears it.

Maksim looks at me. “Cara stays in the north wing.”

I open my mouth. He lifts one finger. I stop.

“You’ll set up a temporary desk in the north-wing study near the library corridor,” he says. “Officially, it’s for faster coordination while she works Patrick’s patterns.”