The Eye of the Beholder

[Sören]

Sören was not much concerned with the morality of the task. Nor the legality, come to that. He watched patiently while she processed the request, offering no encouragement beyond the demand of his stare. The name revealed meant nothing to him, with or without an accompanying image. Perhaps Morven had mentioned him, but Sören rarely listened to the crash and storm of her frustrations during the rare times they occupied the apartment together, least of all when the strong rasp of her accent devolved into words he barely understood. Still, a name was something. This was the patient for whom Morven had lost her job.

“She has no family in Moscow. No friends that I know of.” He said it dismissively, but without the hesitation of uncertainty. He knew it to be true. Given her abilities and disposition, it was unlikely anyone had taken her against her will. The most probable outcome was the one he least wanted to entertain, of course. His jaw flexed, less from concern than pure frustration, and his arm tensed like he meant to stand, but the attempt was abandoned. A short sigh followed.

“I do not know,” he said. His limbs sank tired, unwilling to move, and for once he accepted his bodily limitations. He’d rest a while and let Nina forage for answers. She seemed curious, and Sören would take all the free help he could get.