TIMOFEY
I peer through the curtain down at the street below. In the heat of the afternoon, most people are off the streets. The shop on the corner has a "Closed" sign in the front window. Even the man with the rickshaw who has been preying on the hotel's guests relentlessly since I arrived has his feet kicked up on the dash and a hat pulled down low over his eyes.
"I don't think you were followed."
I turn back to the room and glance around. Piper is sitting on the edge of the sofa. Her elbows are on her knees, her back hunched. The shaft of light from the window angles across her face. When she looks over at me, she squints.
"Really?" she asks.
I drop the curtain and take a second for my eyes to adjust in the sudden darkness. "I don't see anything on the street, at least. If Kreshnik was going to attack, he would have. If you were involved, I assume you would have done something by now, too."
