Page 84 of The Enforcer’s Pawn

So I search the way Patrick would’ve asked him to search. Most results are useless. Medical gloves, expired clinic stock, freight codes. Charity processors using new names over old accounts. Then one batch opens under New Harbor Medical Aid. Pediatric masks, child nutrition packs, small blankets, inhaler kits.

Yuri almost closes it. “Another cover batch.”

“Wait,” I say.

He stops. A clinic reference sits three lines down.

Boston. I know that neighborhood, and I know that clinic. Kathryn once argued with a receptionist there after Mikhail’s cough wouldn’t settle. The same clinic appears in Evan’s work files under a humanitarian route he could access. Patrick didn’t need Mikhail’s name in the file. He only needed Evan to confirm the clinic, because that gave him a real place to start looking.

My lungs forget their job. Mikhail’s red toy car flashes behind my eyes. Pancake syrup on his fingers. His laugh when he says mechanic like “meck-a-nick.” His small body asleep in Kathryn’s apartment while men across an ocean turn children’s supplies into warning labels.

Everyone else sees a suspicious shipment. I see my son. Dmitri sees me see him. His face doesn’t change.

“What does the clinic mean?” he asks.

My mouth moves before my brain catches up. “Kathryn lives near there.”

Yuri glances at the screen. Abramov stands in the doorway now, drawn by the file alert. Sergei waits behind him. Dmitri looks at me for one long second. He caught the lie. He chooses to bury it.

I want to shake him, because some awful part of me knows he’s the only person in this house who could protect the name I’m still refusing to give him.

“Secure the batch,” he says. “Trace every related Boston reference. Isolate the clinic, the delivery route, the maintenance window, and any names tied to Evan’s access.”

Yuri nods and starts exporting the batch to a sealed case folder.

“Abramov,” Dmitri says.

“I’ll seal the New Harbor batch,” Abramov replies. “No one outside this team sees the Boston clinic reference unless I approve it.”

“Everyone out.”

Abramov steps out first. Yuri looks as if he wants to object, then sees Dmitri’s face. He freezes the search on Dmitri’s terminal and follows. The printed summary lies on the table. Sergei remains last. His gaze touches my face for one second, careful and kind. Then he leaves.

The door closes behind Sergei. Dmitri stays across the table. My hand slides over the printed summary. He has already seen enough on my face. No step brings him closer.

His voice remains level. “Who is in Boston, Cara?”

“Kathryn.”

“No,” he says.

The word gets past every defense I have left and finds the truth waiting.

My palm sweats against the printed summary. Pediatric masks, small blankets, child nutrition packs. The file looks harmless until I see the clinic. Patrick used Evan to find a place connected to Mikhail. He knew I’d understand who he was pointing at.

Dmitri waits. His question is no longer about trust. He’s asking who I love more than myself, and I can’t give him that answer without giving him everything.

My fingers curl over the page. “Don’t try to dig through every part of my life.” The warning sounds weak even to me.

His gaze darkens, but his voice stays even. “If Morozov knows that place, it’s no longer safe.”

I push the file an inch away. “Your files won’t make it safer.”

“My men can.”

For a while, I say nothing.

Then I make myself give him the truth he can handle. “Kathryn has neighbors, a school, a grocery store, a landlord. Her front door sticks in winter. Your men can’t walk into that life without changing it forever.”