The Glass Fortress

The ride was a blur of motion and vibration. Ava sat in the back seat, her cello case beside her. The man—the killer—sat next to her. He didn't touch her, but his presence was a physical weight, sucking the oxygen out of the car.

They arrived at a building that pierced the skyline like a shard of black ice. The penthouse elevator opened directly into an apartment that felt more like a fortress than a home.

Floor-to-ceiling glass walls looked out over the frozen expanse of Lake Michigan. The furniture was dark, Italian leather, sharp edges, chrome accents. It was beautiful, expensive, and utterly cold.

The man threw his coat onto a chair. He turned to Ava.

He pointed to himself. "Nikolai," he mouthed.

Ava watched his lips. *Nik-o-lai.*

He pointed to her.

"Ava," she said. Her voice sounded strange to her—she hadn't heard it in eight years. She worked constantly with a vocal coach to maintain her modulation, but she always feared she sounded guttural or loud.

Nikolai nodded. He walked to the door, punched a code into a keypad, and locked it. The bolts slammed home with a vibration Ava felt through the floor.

He turned back to her, crossing his arms. He looked her up and down, assessing her not as a prisoner, but as an acquisition.

A second man entered from a side room. He was younger, with a nervous energy that made him twitchy. He had a scar running through his eyebrow. This was Dmitri. Ava didn't know his name yet, but she felt the malice radiating off him like heat.

Dmitri signed something to Nikolai—not ASL, but a rough, tactical hand signal. He pointed at Ava, then drew a finger across his throat.

Nikolai’s reaction was instantaneous. He backhanded Dmitri.

Ava felt the impact through the floor. Dmitri stumbled back, clutching his jaw. Nikolai stepped into Dmitri’s space, snarling something low and violent. Dmitri looked at the floor, nodding submissively, but when he looked up at Ava, his eyes were filled with venom.

Nikolai dismissed him. Dmitri stormed out, slamming a bedroom door.

Nikolai turned back to Ava. He gestured to the sprawling living room. *Stay.*

Ava set her cello case down. "I am not a pet," she said, focusing on her enunciation. "You can't just keep me here."

Nikolai walked over to her. He towered over her, smelling of gunpowder and expensive vodka. He reached out and touched a lock of her hair, rubbing it between his gloved fingers.

He pulled a smartphone from his pocket. He typed something and held the screen up to her.

* You saw too much. The police are not safe. You stay here. You are safe here.*

"Safe?" Ava laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "You just killed a man in front of me."

Nikolai typed again. *He was a traitor. Are you a traitor, Ava?*

Ava looked at him. "I'm a cellist."

Nikolai’s lips twitched. Almost a smile. *Then play.*