TEA IN THE GARDEN

TATIANA

“If you’re planning on poisoned tea, you should know I’ve built up a tolerance to subpar hospitality over the last week,” I say, watching Dmitri set the tray down on the small table in the garden.

He doesn’t even look up. He just nudges the cup slightly closer to me, the steam rising in a slow, almost mocking curl.

“It’s Earl Grey,” he says.

Four syllables. A new record.

“How very polite of you,” I reply, leaning back in the chair and crossing my legs. “Are we going to discuss the weather next, or perhaps the implications of my being held in a cliffside fortress by a murderer and his sidekick?”

Dmitri stands there with his hands clasped behind his back, looking like he’s been carved out of old leather and military-grade patience.

“The tea is hot,” he says. “Drink it slowly, Miss Morozov.”

I study him, tilting my head slightly.

Getting anything useful out of Dmitri is like trying to hold water in my hands. He answers just enough to make it seem like he’s cooperating, and then you check afterward and realize you’ve learned absolutely nothing.

I still like him anyway.

He knocked this morning at eight, like always, with a tray that already has my tea steeped to exactly the right color, even though I’ve never told him how I take it.

I say good morning. He says it back. He sets the tray near the window.

But this time, he doesn’t leave.

Usually, he’s gone in under a minute, like someone’s timing him.

So I look at him and say, “You’re lingering.”

He meets my gaze. “Does it bother you?”

“If you plan to stay, you might as well sit,” I say with a small shrug.

He moves the extra chair so it faces the garden walls instead of me, and I choose not to comment on how tiny the chair looks under him.

“How long have you worked for him?” I ask. “For Kain?”

“Long enough.”

“Why?” I press. “Is it the money? Because, as I’ve been telling you, I can pay you more.”

His tired eyes flick to mine.

“My answer remains the same,” he says. “My loyalty…”

“...lies with Kain,” I finish for him, sighing softly. “You’re starting to sound like a broken record.”

He doesn’t react.

“My father taught me something a long time ago,” I continue, leaning back slightly. “When I tried to convince him I had strong principles and that made me better than everyone else.” I smile, though it feels more like baring my teeth. “Everyone has a price, Dmitri. I just haven’t found yours yet.”

I wait for a sigh. A flicker. Anything.

Dmitri adjusts his cuff.

“You’re loud,” he says.

“Rude,” I shoot back, lifting a hand to my chest in mock offense. “Well, I hope he pays you enough to listen to me, or you might regret this later.”

“He pays for my daughters’ school.”

The words land differently.

His tone doesn’t change, but something in the air does.

I freeze with the cup halfway to my mouth.

Daughters.

He has a life outside this place. People who probably don’t know he spends his afternoons bringing tea to kidnapped women.

“How many?” I ask, and for once my voice loses its edge.

“Two.”

I nod slowly, then recover just enough to add, “Do they know what you do, or do you tell them you’re an accountant? That seems to be the go-to lie for men who carry guns. Very Great Gatsby, just without the parties.”

Dmitri’s gaze shifts past me toward the house, and I follow it briefly, wondering if Kain is watching from one of the cameras I haven’t found yet.

“They know I keep people safe,” he says.

I stand abruptly, the tea sloshing in the cup.

“Is that what Kain told you you’re doing?” I ask. “Keeping me safe? Because from where I’m standing, I’m the only person here who isn’t a threat.”

“Why are you asking me about him?” he asks.

Yup he caught on.

“I’m not,” I reply quickly.

His eyes narrow slightly, and the tiredness in it gives way to suspicion.

“Fine,” I say with a small huff. “Because you answer differently than he does. You should know your boss lacks communication skills.”

“I won’t answer at all.”

“You already have,” I point out, sitting back down and picking up my tea again. “Several times. What I’m trying to understand is why he does what he does… without remorse.”

Dmitri is quiet for a long moment, and I almost assume he’s decided to ignore the question entirely.

Then he says, “Kain doesn’t think in terms of right or wrong.”

I frown slightly. “What do you mean?”

He stands, straightening his jacket with practiced precision.

“He thinks in terms of what needs to be done,” Dmitri says. “And whether it gets done.”

I stare at him. “You’ve given me nothing tangible.”

“Yes,” he replies calmly, the faintest hint of a smile touching his mouth. “Consider it repayment for getting me in trouble last night.”

He picks up the tray, moving with a precision that makes me feel messy, unfinished, like a first draft of a web novel that needed heavy editing.

“If I try the window again tonight,” I say lightly, “are you going to have another cup of tea waiting, or should I bring my own snacks?”

“You know the locks were changed ten minutes ago, Miss Morozov,” he says, his voice flat and final. “Enjoy your evening.”