Meanwhile, in Nina's apartment next door, Vladimir stood pressed against the shared wall with all the rigid determination of a child trying very hard to become something older and more competent than his years should allow. His stuffed wolf remained tucked securely in one hand while the other held a glass cup against the wall, the rim angled carefully so he could try to catch even the faintest vibration from the apartment beyond. He listened with such fierce concentration that his entire little body seemed to narrow around the effort, ears straining, breath held, shoulders drawn tight with worry.
He heard nothing.
Not a murmur, not a footstep, not even the vague shifting noises that usually leaked through the walls of the old building when someone next door coughed, paced, or set down a cup. The silence felt unnatural to him, not comforting but suspicious, and it made the tiny line between his brows deepen until he looked far too severe for a boy his age.
"That's strange…"
