Annakel
Kinolesky Tower is all glass and sharp lines, a building designed to look untouchable.
The lobby ceiling is too high. The floors shine like mirrors. People move quietly, dressed in expensive neutrals, faces composed like they’re afraid to be seen feeling anything.
Annakel stands in a side conference room on the forty-second floor, staring at her reflection in the dark window.
She looks like a woman who belongs here.
That’s what scares her.
Inessa adjusts the cuff of Annakel’s blazer with quick, firm hands. “Breathe,” she murmurs.
Annakel inhales. Her lungs obey.
Nadia sits on a sofa a few feet away, hands clenched around a paper cup of tea. She’s wearing a simple black dress and a coat that looks borrowed, because it is. Her hair is pinned back too tightly, like she’s tryin
