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I give her a small shake of my head. Not yet.

Kirill opens the driver’s door.

Irina is still complaining about something as she circles toward the passenger side, which gives me a few seconds. I move toward the rear door and open it, pretending to put one of the shopping bags inside.

Kirill gets into the driver’s seat.

I wait until he leans forward to adjust something near the steering wheel, then glance back at Anya.

Now. She moves quickly.

She slips out of the side entrance, keeps low behind the open door, and climbs into the back before either of them notices. I move one of the bags onto the seat and another down into the footwell, helping hide her behind the passenger seat.

My heart is beating so hard I’m sure somebody must hear it.

I slide in beside her and close the door.

Kirill adjusts the mirror.

I lean forward at the exact same moment, pretending to fix the strap on my shoe.

His eyes meet mine briefly in the glass. “Everything all right?”

“Yes.”

He looks at me for another second, then turns back to the road.

Irina gets into the front passenger seat and immediately starts complaining that we are late. Nobody notices Anya.

I almost laugh from relief. Almost.

The car pulls away from the house, passes through the gate, and for the first few minutes I barely move. Anya is tucked down behind the passenger seat, hidden by the bags and my legs, and I keep one foot angled so nothing shifts enough to expose her.

Irina talks the entire time. She complains about traffic, mostly.

My stomach tightens every time she tries to mention Anya, and I quickly redirect the conversation. I can see Kirill frowning in the rearview mirror, but thankfully he says nothing. Irina already has the GPS location set, so he just drives.

I gulp. Surely, he suspects something. I think he knows the area well, so he would know we’re not going shopping today. Yet, he says nothing.

So either the universe showed me small mercy today, or something is wrong. But I try not to worry about that, especially since Anya has my kneecap in a death grip.

I look between Irina and Kirill in disbelief. Irina thinks he already knows Anya is coming. Kirill thinks he is simply driving Irina somewhere. Neither of them realizes the other one has a completely different understanding of what is happening. Did I pull this off with almost perfection? The characters from Money Heist would be proud of me.

And I am sitting in the back seat praying neither of them asks the right question.

At one point, Kirill looks at me through the rearview mirror.

“You’re very quiet.”

“I’m tired.”

“You were fine ten minutes ago.”

“I was tired then too. I was just talking more.”

He watches me for another second, then looks back at the road.

Anya’s fingers brush my ankle.