“Ivan Nikolaevich, sir,” Vanya said with a polite nod, his voice off-key and his accent strangled. “This is my sister, Tamara.”

Emre cleared his throat, smoothing back the strands of coal-black hair that had slipped over his eyes. “Just two of my daughter’s friends. They’ll be staying here a short while. But as I said before, we have no monsters, despite what the sign says. You people already came and took them.”

The soldier stepped deeper into the attic, his flinty eyes scanning the room. He paused for a moment on the moth-eaten stuffed monkey, curled his upper lip in disgust, and then turned to Vanya and me.

“Papers.” The man held out his hand expectantly.

“Of course,” I stammered, searching through my coat pockets until I found the leather booklet.

He took the passbook from me and wordlessly flipped through it, before returning to the first page. “You’re from the north, eh?”

“Yes.”

“I have family there. A small town named Zoltsk.” He handed the book back to me before turning to Vanya, who relinquished his own papers readily enough. This time, the soldier gave them only a cursory glance.

Slowly, I released a breath. Across the room, Emre and Pelin stood motionless, their faces blanched to wan tones. As I met Emre’s eyes, a jolt passed through me. He was trembling ever so slightly, his hands curled into fists.

He knew.

“Ah, I almost forgot.” The soldier nonchalantly dropped Vanya’s passbook on the cot. “By order of the Fraktsiya, all residents of each household must be registered at city hall, including visitors. I’ll let you two off easy this time and instead of giving you a citation, you’ll just have to pay a small fine. A hundred and fifty grevka each should cover it.”

I searched my pockets, but all I uncovered were the two grimy ten-pieces that the icon seller had given me in change.

“Here,” Vanya said, holding out a wad of crumpled banknotes he had taken from his bag. “This should be enough.”

Licking the pad of his thumb, the man counted out the bills, then did it a second time after reaching the end of the stack. With a grunt of satisfaction, he slid the wad into his breast pocket. One note slipped from the pile and landed on the floor by the cot.

I swallowed hard.

“I got it,” Vanya said, but the man was already bending down.

Movement shifted in the corner of my eye. Silently, Pelin extended one hand, curling her fingers around thin air, and tugged back as though grasping at an invisible rope. A mild breeze passed through the room, stirring my hair over my eyes and sending the dropped banknote wafting across the floorboards.

“It gets drafty up here,” Pelin said, leaning down to retrieve the crumpled paper.

The soldier turned to watch her, his eyes glassy and his mouth cocked oddly. At first, I thought he realized what she was and began to reach for my hunting knife. Then it dawned on me that the look in his eyes wasn’t suspicion or hatred, but something else, something hungry. As she rose, she offered him a warm smile and held out the twenty-grevka note.