Friends in High Places

[Sofia Vasilieva]

She glanced at Pasha. Probably the last person Maksim would want to see, though he hung back by the door anyway, lingering near the agent. His arms were folded, his eyes cast down.

“Max, are you awake? There’s someone here to see you.” She did not sit, and her hands remained casual in her pockets, though she was not unkind either. Iásōn’s suggestion was unbearably American, though well meant she was sure. Russians simply did not dote their affections amongst strangers.

By now Maksim’s face was barely recognisable, and she could not really tell if his eyes were open or closed. Linochka had always been dreamy-eyed over him. Sofia never really saw the appeal; he was a charming fuck-up who spent far too much of his time chasing highs. But he treated her sister well so far as Sofia could see, and she was certain Alina would confide if it were not the case.

“He’s going to fix your injuries,” she added. She wondered how he might react to the mask; Maksim had had a rough and unusual day, after all. But he must have heard the gossip, and it was hardly like Sofia would allow anything bad to happen to him while she was standing right there.