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She crouches beside the bed and examines the drainage chamber. “How much in the last twenty-four hours?”

“Twenty-eight milliliters.”

“Note it down, and leave it to drain. Don’t remove it yet.”

Vera looks toward Misha, who’s slumped sideways in the chair and losing his fight with sleep. Frustration crosses her face before she turns back to the supplies. “None of this should be happening in a house.”

Mrs. Wentworth steps forward. “I can take him to the family suite. His bed is ready.”

Vera addresses her. “You stay with the family?”

“For twenty years,” Mrs. Wentworth says without taking offense. “I raised half the men now giving orders.”

Vera hesitates, then crouches beside her son. “You stay close, and you bring him back if he wakes.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Wentworth says.

Once Mrs. Wentworth carries Misha out, Vera turns her attention back to me.

I watch her face while she works. “You take over quickly.”

She glances at me. “I’m effective.”

I have no answer for that.

Abramov opens a tablet near the foot of the bed. “West-wing coverage is set. Two men at the outer entrance, one at the internal stair, two on the garden side, one at the glass corridor, and two in the pool passage. Another pair will rotate along the exterior path.”

“Add three at the entrance,” I say, watching Vera clean the reopened section.

She doesn’t look up. “No.”

Abramov waits.

“Two more near the service access,” I continue, ignoring her. “And one outside the child’s door.”

Vera stops and turns her head. “Do you plan to protect him or declare war on bedtime?”

“The child was seen leaving your building.”

“A ring of armed men around a three-year-old isn’t layered coverage. It’s a siege.”

“The visible men can stand farther back.”

“That doesn’t make them invisible.”

“Sergei takes this floor,” Maksim tells Abramov. “Visible guards stay near the wing entrance. Keep the others farther back unless there’s an alert.”

The scar running down Sergei’s face frightens most adults, but he’s always been good with children. Elena’s son Lev and Cara’s son Mikhail both trust him.

Abramov nods. “Sergei takes the family wing. He stays with the children until further orders.”

Vera looks between them. “How many guards are around this wing?”

“Not enough,” I answer.

She says nothing, but her brows draw together.

Maksim lifts one hand. “The child won’t wake up surrounded by rifles. The men closest to the suite will remain out of sight.”