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his knocks don't amount to much—dmitri wonders if kasimir sent the girl, fane, an advanced warning. he's not sure killing that many acolytes in a single twenty-four-hour time frame would be a good idea, but the thought does cross his mind.
[break][break]
enough for him to put his hand around the back base of kasimir's neck, offer a squeeze that borders bone-crush.
[break][break]
"if she isn't here..."
[break][break]
he breaks the door open.

---

she isn't there.
[break][break]
but something in his mind seems to change, when he sees the interior of the room. is this a joke? he almost feels bad.
[break][break]
"no one lives here, kasimir," dmitri eventually says.
[break][break]
how do you not recognize a dollhouse when you see it? the food is either canned or frozen. the bed is covered in dust. the photos on the wall are magazine-cut.
[break][break]

---

except....[break]
[break]

---

[break]
there is one photo. farah isn't in it, but dmitri is—younger, but not by much. there is a young woman next to him, blonde. they look like they are in a booth, somewhere, and dmitri flicks to the back of it.
[break][break]
the note reads:
[break][break]

"you know where to find me now. only one link—he should be easy enough to remove."
[break][break]
ah. so that's how it goes. kasimir, in other words. "fane" or "f" or whoever she is—created a connection just so she wouldn't have to use her own, so there would be no messengers to kill, except one she didn't mind dead. or maybe, she contrived this entire game just to get rid of someone she didn't particularly care for.
[break][break]
(surely, if she wanted to find him, that wouldn't be a problem)
[break][break]
he hands kasimir the back of the photograph and looks at him. [break]

[break]

---

but dmitri lets him live. a mix of pity, and amusement. and also, to be sure—pettiness.
[break][break]
some weeks later, he arrives at la vierge.