“Work. Why?”

He didn’t laugh. “Put it in the lost and found. Some poor rigger dropped it in the compound mix. Happens.”

Maya felt the key in her pocket, still warm. “What does that mean?”

“No kidding.”

“Because according to the bill of lading, that roll’s polymer blend includes 12 percent material sourced from a facility in Minsk. The facility doesn’t exist anymore. It was shuttered in 1998. After Chernobyl.”

The next morning, Leo was gone. The night supervisor’s station was empty, a half-drunk cup of coffee still warm. Security footage showed him walking onto the warehouse floor at 3:17 a.m., approaching Roll 447D, and then—nothing. The camera glitched for six seconds. When the picture returned, Leo was not there. Neither was the roll.