A Quiet Crossroads (Lake Baikal, Siberia)

[Sören]

He catalogued the brief smile as a victory. Not one he had intended to win, and he was uncertain of its value, but winning was winning and Sören would hoard every prize. Especially when the opponent was interesting.

The lure drifted loose for a while, and he allowed Kemala all the time she wanted to toy with it. He was prepared to drive a bargain if she required more of him, and his attention was devoted to the task of awaiting her answer. Whether it was truly her help he wanted, or simply the opportunity to win the rest of her story, he was unsure. For now it didn’t matter. Though he knew she had teeth, and sharp ones, she did not show them.

Instead she teased her answer in the same manner in which she had made him wait for it. Talk of freezing waters drew his attention upon the warm, dark skin so unaccustomed to it, or perhaps to the tattoo so deftly tantalised and hidden. The curve of a smile rose briefly and faded, though not without riposte in kind, as he lifted himself from his chair. “Now you’ll never know if I would have begged.”

Truth was: nothing was beneath him, if he wanted it badly enough.

He stood, empty teacup in hand, and held a palm to retrieve hers if it were likewise finished with. Otherwise it was only her gaze he held before departure. “Then I will see you in the morning.”