Still, when the light slanting through the blinds woke him properly, the headaches had gone. He lay in the bed for a while, on his back, looking up at the stained ceiling. Perhaps things were out of his hands, now. As Brecht had said, there were no prizes for taking things further, only pain. This was his home. This was where his family were, where his heart lay. He had to protect them, now. He had to mend what needed to be mended.

He dragged himself from the bed, wound a robe around himself, and shuffled into the kitchen. Milija was already there, sitting at the table with a steaming mug of caffeine. He went up to her, held her by the shoulders, kissed her.

‘How did you sleep?’ he asked.

‘Not well,’ she said, looking preoccupied. ‘Agusto, we need to–’

‘I’m on it,’ he said, getting a caffeine himself and coming back to join her. ‘I’ve got Brecht looking. I’ll do the same thing myself this morning. She’ll be holed up at a friend’s, her comms off. But I’ve got the time, now. I’ll bring her back.’

Milija looked up at him. Her hair fell back from her face, which was lined with worry. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I looked around myself, you know.’

‘I know. But your work never stops. Like I say, I’m on it.’

She nodded, and leaned her elbows on the tabletop. ‘So, did you find that boy?’

‘In a manner of speaking.’

‘Then you got what you wanted?’

‘No. You don’t win them all.’

‘Oh. Sorry.’

He didn’t tell her everything. No point in giving her bad dreams, too. He leaned forward, and took her hands in his. Hers were still supple, a requirement of her job. His looked like callused sides of meat. ‘Lija, I know it’s been hard. I need to tell you everything that’s been going on. But I can’t. Not right now. You don’t need to worry about… what you’ve been worrying about. It’s not like that. I’ve had some things to work through. I’ve been looking to get help with them.’

Milija looked up at him. ‘That’s meant to make me feel better?’

‘I just need to figure out what I’m doing, how to get my head together. I need to be better. To be truer.’

‘So you’ve been going to… what do they call it? Confession?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

Zidarov smiled self-consciously. ‘Pride? Embarrassment, I guess.’

‘You could have talked to me.’

‘I want to. I’ll learn to.’