Page 203 of Sexting the Pakhan

I climb through the window to check if they left any clues. Even a small drop makes a jarring pain go through my leg, but I stay upright and force myself to look.

The ground below the window is marked clearly enough. A small shoe scraped through the dirt. Larger footprints on either side. One set heavier than the other. They didn’t carry her the whole way. They made her move. Faster that way. Quieter too.

Stepan lands beside me. He crouches, checks the ground once, then looks up toward the tree line. “They wanted you to follow.”

“Yes.”

“We should wait. Call Pavel. Get men out here.”

“No.”

He rises slowly. “Ruslan.”

I turn to him. “I know,” I say. “I know exactly what this is. And I’m still going.”

He stares back at me for one second too long, then nods. “Then I’m coming.”

I say nothing.

That’s not agreement. It’s not refusal either.

The trail is almost insulting in how visible it is. Broken grass. Scuffed dirt. One ribbon caught on a branch—yellow, from Mila’s hair. She must have dropped it, or they wanted me to think she did. Either way, it works. Every step after that is easier to take and harder to survive.

The trees thin near the old quarry. The ledge opens ahead, black against the deeper black of the drop.

And there he is.

Ilya.

He’s standing near the edge with Mila in front of him, one hand twisted in the back of her coat to keep her where he wants her. She’s crying silently, chest hitching, face wet, but she is standing. Brave enough to stand.

My whole body locks for one dangerous second.

Then I move forward just enough for her to see me. “Mila.”

Her head jerks up.

“Papa,” she says, and that one word nearly takes my knees out from under me.

Ilya smiles at that. A terrible, pleased sort of smile. “So,” he says. “That’s true too.”

I ignore him. “Mila, look at me.”

She does. God, she does.

“You’re all right,” I tell her.

She shakes her head hard. “I want Mama.”

“I know.”

“She was sleeping.”

“I know.”

Ilya tightens his hold on her coat. She flinches.

My voice changes without me meaning it to. “Don’t touch her like that.”