“We’ll get you new ones,” Piotrek says. “Under different names. It’s better under the circumstances, yes?”

“That seems a little shady. Shouldn’t we go to the embassy?” Luka frowns, though I know that’s the last thing he would advise.

“Not if you don’t want to be taken in for questioning. Audra has ties to Ivan. Better that we call friends.”

Piotrek and Claudia are in fast conversation by the time Piotrek parks in front of a ship anchored in the harbor. Some kind of maritime hostel, judging by the sign.

I’m confused. “You don’t know anyone we could stay with? I mean, we just had everything stolen.” Where’s the so-called underground?

Claudia’s look is droll. “We’re far less likely to be noticed here than in a neighborhood. Besides. We’re not exactly checking in at the front desk. Wait here.” They get out of the car and head toward the entrance ramp.

The minute they’re out of sight I cover my face with my hands. I’m shaking. Luka slides closer, lays an arm around me.

Don’t go digging. Others’ lives depend on it.

I was right. And Piotrek is right; no one around me is safe.

“He’s dead because of me,” I say, breath ragged.

Luka pulls me against him. “He knew the risks. He chose to come.”

“He was going to tell me everything.” My words catch in my throat. I feel like I’m having some kind of breakdown. “He said he had something—something for me.”

And now, whatever it is, they have it. Whatever he knew and meant to tell me has been harvested. They know it now.

“I wonder if I was right, saying we should come back here,” Luka murmurs.

“How’d they find Ivan? He was experienced—older. He was smart.”

“I don’t know. This whole thing feels off.”

I glance up at a movement in the parking lot. Claudia. I drag a sleeve across my eyes.

A moment later the car door opens. “Rooms, on the house,” Claudia says. “You’re 205.”

“Wow. How’d you manage that?” Luka says, if only for her benefit.

“A very helpful housekeeper.”

We get out of the car and she hands us a key card and a couple of disposable toothbrushes. “Wait a few minutes and then let yourself in. We’ll come get you in the morning.”

*  *  *

Apparently the bad blood between Claudia and me runs deep enough that she doesn’t want to bunk with us. And literally, there are four bunk beds in our IKEA-inspired room in primary yellow and white.

I slump into the metal desk chair, aware of Luka standing at the window, staring out at the water. He’s purposefully kept the room light off, cracking the bathroom door just enough that I can see his silhouette against the moonlit harbor.

“We shouldn’t have come. This is my fault,” he says.