Sophia hooked the last of the bombka onto the Christmas tree. It was a small but perfect tree. The glass balls adorned the tree like gemstones: ruby, amethyst, irradiated blue sapphire, turquoise and even a mottled black and gray one that could have passed for snowflake obsidian.
‘I don’t think we’ve done too badly,’ Sophia said.
Leoncjusz exhaled as he sank into an armchair, still wearing his winter coat. There was no roaring fireplace, but they had the spare heater Sophia normally used while reading.
‘I have a present for you,’ he said, removing a cloth package from a deep pocket in his coat and unwrapping it upon his lap.
She half-expected a lump of coal, but there was a passport inside.
‘Your new identity,’ he said, and held it up to reveal a pistol and flashbang underneath.
Ever
