Page 73 of The Pakhan's Sold Bride

“I’m aware,” Roan says. “Do you want to leave the Miron thing until that’s over?”

Nestor sighs loudly.

“Yes, let’s leave it. We can pick it up again on Wednesday.”

“Yes, sir.” Roan’s footsteps come towards the door, and I run quietly away, ducking into the library.

I want to see the photograph.

I want to see where he’s going.

What if it’s a pattern? My head is still fixated on that puzzle, and I won’t be able to let go until I solve it. And I really, really want to do something good for Nestor. I want to show him how much I care by fixing something for him.

That afternoon, I make a stop at the mall, purchasing a baseball cap and a cheap disposable hoodie. I want to be incognito. It has to be something I can toss in a moment’s notice but wear to hide my face.

The giant pair of glasses at the checkout counter is also perfect, so I add them to my purchase.

Tomorrow, while Nestor is busy with whatever business he has with Benedikt, I am going to see what Miron is up to.

I’ll wait till Nestor is asleep tonight before I sneak into his office to snap a photograph of that photograph.

Miron knows very little about me.

I doubt he would recognize me if I walked past him wearing giant glasses and a cap.

Not that I plan to walk past him. I don’t have any intention of getting that close.

***

It’s unfortunately easy to avoid Nestor, because he already appears to be avoiding me. It hurts, but I’m trying so hard to remind myself that it’s because he’s going through a difficult time and not because of something I’ve done.

Nestor retreats to his bedroom early, and instead of going through and asking him if I can stay with him tonight, I retreat to my own room, respectful of his needs, but also wanting to sneak into his office without him noticing.

It’s past eleven when I am comfortable enough to make the move.

It only takes a few minutes. The printed image Roan gave him of Miron’s notes is on his desk, next to his laptop. I take a quick photo of it and rush back to my room, closing the door behind me to study it in the quiet darkness of my bed.

I zoom in on his messy handwriting, scrawled in blue ink across a lined page.

A delivery company at 9 am

A coffee house. 11 am

Dropping off a document. 12:15 pm

Picking up dry cleaning. 1:30 pm

The longer I study the list, the more my suspicion grows about the types of places he is going. And the times are so specific.

“What are you up to, Miron?” I whisper quietly, studying the phone, trying to see past the words.

Everything on that list is so normal. Too normal. Every day, run-of-the-mill errands. Why would Miron be doing such bland things when he has people taking care of his every need?

My interest is piqued, and I can’t let it go now.

Nestor is only leaving the house around nine tomorrow morning, so I won’t make the one at the delivery company, but I can get to the coffee house before Miron and tail him from there to the next place. Maybe he’s meeting people, trying to cover up the meeting to make them look like something else. Why would he want to hide a meeting? It can’t be for any good reason.

I struggle to fall asleep, my mind looping and the anxiety in my stomaching knotting tighter the more I watch the time.

---