She folded the paper slowly, walked to the Daugava River, and threw it in. It sank immediately, like lead.
She checked the address in her hand. The paper was still there. But now, beneath the list of nine names, a tenth had been added. Neatly typed. tvaikonu str. 5, lv1007, riga, latvia
Apartment 5 was at the end of the hall. The brass number plate was polished. Immaculate. Impossible. She folded the paper slowly, walked to the
Her own name.
Marta’s skin went cold, then hot. She touched the nearest teacup. It was warm. She lifted the folded paper. Beneath it, carved into the wooden chair’s backrest, was a name: Marta Lapiņa. She folded the paper slowly