Mikhail’s face changed.
“What did you say?”
Misha seemed confused by the reaction. “The blue bell. She told me once. If something bad happens and I can’t find her or you, find the blue bell.”
My eyes moved toward the front window.
The old neon sign outside flickered weakly in the storm.
BELL’S DINER.
Beside the words was a faded blue bell, painted by my father when I was little. I remembered him standing on a ladder in the summer heat, his shirt stuck to his back, blue paint on his cheek, whistling some old song my mother loved.
I had always thought the bell was just a sign.
Just a name.
Mikhail slowly turned toward it.
His voice was quiet. “Nina knew this place?”
Misha nodded. “She said the blue bell was safe.”
A strange pressure built behind my ribs.
“That doesn’t make sense,” I said. “I don’t know anyone named Nina.”
Mikhail looked at me.
“Did your father?”
“My father?”
“Yes.”
I almost laughed. It came out wrong. “My father served pancakes and coffee. He knew postal workers, nurses, mechanics, half the neighborhood, and one retired magician who never paid on time. He did not know people who travel in black SUVs.”
Mikhail did not smile.
“What was his name?”
“Thomas Bell.”
The change in his face was unmistakable this time.
Not just recognition.
Impact.
Like a door inside him had opened and he had seen something he had tried very hard to keep closed.
Ray saw it too. “Anna…”
I looked from him to Mikhail. “What?”
Mikhail’s voice lowered. “Your father was Thomas Bell?”
“Yes.”
“From this diner?”
