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The hurt on Misha’s face lasts only a moment. He gives the spoon to Oksana and tells her Papa burned the soup again.

Alexei hears him. He doesn’t turn around.

That night, Misha asks for the cave story twice, then falls asleep with the green dinosaur against his cheek. Once Oksana settles on the cot beside his bed, I step into the glass-enclosed veranda. Locked doors separate it from the wide open terrace, and the steel fasteners suggest the glass is probably bulletproof. I stand there for a while, looking at the moonless, clouded sky.

On my way back, I notice light beneath Alexei’s office door. It’s already eleven.

I’m still awake at midnight. When I step out, his room is dark. His secure laptop is closed on the office desk, and Sergei stands alone at the second guard point.

“Where is he?” I ask.

“He used the pool passage,” Sergei says.

“In his condition?”

“He dismissed the guard.”

“Why did the guard listen?”

Sergei gives me a careful look. “He is Mr. Orlov.”

I take Alexei’s medication from the tray and walk through the glass passage.

The indoor pool pavilion sits beyond the family side of the west wing, enclosed by tall windows and dark stone. Water throws broken reflections across the ceiling. Only the lights beneath the pool are on, turning the surface pale blue. Rain taps softly against the tall panes.

Alexei walks through the shallow end with one hand on the rail. He moves badly for a man who does everything else with precision. He favors his left side when the healing muscles pull, and every turn costs him. He shouldn’t be in the pool area without Irina, let alone testing his weight in the water. An untouched glass of whiskey rests on the table beside him.

I set the medication on the table. “Are you trying to make me operate again?”

He reaches the far side of the shallow lane and grips the edge with both hands.

“I’m walking in the water, not swimming.”

“You’re soaking incisions and straining healing tissue.”

“They’re closed.”

“The skin is closed. The tissue underneath is still weak. You haven’t been cleared to enter a pool.”

“I cleared myself.” His mouth pulls into a humorless smile.

“That worked beautifully last time.”

He starts walking another length.

I wait.

When he returns, his breathing is rougher. He stays half-submerged in the water, palms on the edge, and looks at the medication beside me.

“You brought guards?” he asks.

“They’re always outside.”

He grunts.

“You missed your dose.”

“I know.”