The man moved off again, heading into the warehouse through a side door.
Lena stayed crouched for several more minutes, letting the silence stretch.
Then she stood, brushed off her knees, and walked away like she was just another girl out for a stroll—no one the wiser.
Back at the homestay, she locked herself in the bathroom and pulled out her notebook.
She flipped to the latest page and scribbled frantically.
> Snake tattoo man. Confirmed inner circle. Mentioned Anton and ‘crate’. Dock near old warehouse (East Pier). Moving something today.
She paused, then added in neat, dark ink:
> Ivan didn’t say his name in public. But this one’s trusted. That means the package matters.
Lena
She leaned back and exhaled.
“They don’t know I’m here. Not yet.”
A small, twisted smile crept onto her lips.
“But I know you, Ivan Volk. And every step I take brings me closer.”
Lena
Her eyes flicked toward the mirror.
She stared at her reflection, the calm, almost sweet girl looking back.
Two days after her dockside surveillance, Lena found herself in the back corner of a bar that smelled like salt, smoke, and secrets.
It wasn’t a tourist bar—it was quiet, grimy, and the kind of place where you paid in cash and didn’t ask names.
She sipped her drink slowly, blending in under the dim lights, listening.
Three men sat at the counter. One of them—Anton. The name she heard on the dock. The second man was the one with the snake tattoo. The third, some new guy she hadn’t seen before
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