Outside, Lina waited by the river like a punctuation mark that meant more would follow. He gave her the ledger’s existence and the name. Her face folded and reformed.
Basement rooms are honest places. People go there to be small, to hide their left hands from the glare. There was a room with crates stamped in Cyrillic; another with racks of coats that smelled like other cities. He found a small office with a safe, modern and gray. Someone had cleaned the desk until the wood looked like an erasure.
“Who is it?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Someone who left by the back door and didn’t take everything. Someone who thought leaving would be enough.”