INT. DELANEY'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
The TV is off now, but the room is still bathed in the clinical glow of Delaney's laptop. She's opened a fresh file. Blank. Waiting.
Viktor is on the sofa, his knees pulled to his chest. He looks smaller than he did an hour ago. He isn't sketching anymore; his notebook is closed, a physical barrier between him and the woman sitting at the kitchen table with her fingers poised over the keys.
DELANEY
(Softly, not looking at him)"The paperwork, Viktor. Your mother... she kept it, didn't she? The Bulgarian files?"
Viktor nods slowly. He stares at the dark screen of the TV, seeing the ghost of Elena's face.
VIKTOR
"She did not want to show me. She say it was... грозно. Ugly. But when the lawyers come, when they talk about taking me to America... she get scared I forget. She show me the dossier."
DELANEY
(Typing quietly)"Bulgarian Adoption Agency records. Tell me what they said about the father. Your father."
VIKTOR
"He was not 'father.' He was... a shadow. The file say his name. It say he have a record. Police come for him many times. For the... незаконни оръжия... the guns. Illegal. He sell things that kill people. Then he go away. He leave everything."
Delaney's eyes catch the light of the screen. Her pulse quickens. Criminal record. Weapons. Abandonment. The "Fighter's" sister has a bloodline built on violence. It's a perfect story.
DELANEY
"And the social worker? She mentioned Elena?"
VIKTOR
"She talk too much. She think my mother is nice American lady who want to know 'the whole story.' She tell her about the girl before me. The teenage girl. She say the father leave her first. Like a piece of furniture in a house he burn down."
Viktor's voice is flat, but his hands are twisting the fabric of his sleeves. Delaney notices. She doesn't comfort him. She records it.
DELANEY
"A teenage girl. Left in state care. Did the file say where she went?"
VIKTOR
"It say 'Closed.' International adoption. But the social worker... she remember the names. She liked the names because they sound like... like movie stars. Fiona. Gregoir. The Faulkners."
DELANEY
(A sharp, triumphant click of the keys)"The Faulkners. The parents of a champion. She was traded from a Bulgarian cell to a gilded cage."
She turns in her chair, looking at him. Her expression is a mask of fake empathy, the kind that feels like a warm blanket with a needle hidden inside.
DELANEY
(CONT'D)"Do you realize what she did, Viktor? She knew she had a brother. She knew the agency had your file. And she never looked back. She let them mark it 'Closed' and she walked away into her new, perfect life."
VIKTOR
(Whispering)"Maybe she... maybe she was scared."
DELANEY
"Or maybe she's a liar. Like she was on that TV tonight. She told the world no one reached out. But you're here. You've always been here. She chose to forget you because you're the part of the 'truth' that doesn't look good in a gallery."
Viktor looks down. The grooming is working; the seed of resentment is being watered. He's starting to believe that his sister's success is a personal betrayal of his existence.
VIKTOR
"The file say the father disappeared. It not say he died."
DELANEY
"We'll find him, too. Eventually. But first, we remind Elena of the brother she left behind. We use the paperwork, Viktor. The official stamps. The names of the orphans. We show her that the past isn't something you 'paint over.'"
She stands and walks over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. It's the first time she's touched him since the disappearance. Her hand is cold.
DELANEY
(CONT'D)"You're not a 'sad orphan story' anymore, Viktor. You're the witness. Are you ready to tell her what you know?"
Viktor looks at the laptop. The screen is filled with his family's trauma, organized into bullet points and sub-folders. He feels a strange, intoxicating sense of purpose. For the first time, he isn't just the kid watching the smoke. He's the one holding the match.
VIKTOR
"I am ready."
DELANEY
"Good. Get your notebook. We're going to draft a letter she can't ignore."
As Viktor reaches for his pencil, Delaney walks back to her desk. She opens her sanitizer, the sharp smell of lemon and alcohol filling the room, cleansing the air of the very secrets he just gave her.
She isn't making ash tonight.
She's building a bomb.