“Before your family came to the United States?” I ask.
He nods once. “My father moved us when I was fourteen.”
I hesitate before asking the question that follows. “What was it like?”
“Structured,” he replies eventually. “Disciplined.”
“Strict?”
“Yes.”
The memory rests behind the single syllable.
“My father believed order kept men alive.”
I lean forward slightly. “Was he right?”
Kiren considers the question quietly before answering. “Sometimes.”
I curl my fingers more tightly around the mug resting in my hands, letting the warmth seep into my palms while I think through what he’s just told me. “Did the men around him respect that?”
Kiren leans back more in the chair, the glass resting loosely in his hand. The amber liquid moves slowly when he tilts it once, watching it for a second before answering.
“Some did.”
“And the others?”
He sets the glass down on the low table between us with a soft click of glass against wood before turning his attention fully back to me.
“They waited.”
I move on the sofa, tucking one leg beneath me while I consider the meaning behind it.
“Waited for what?”
“For opportunity,” he states.
A faint chill moves through my thoughts. My fingers tighten briefly around the mug before I lower it to the table beside me. “Men who believe power belongs to them rarely abandon that belief.”
Kiren gives a small nod of agreement, resting one forearm along the back of the chair while the other hand returns to his glass.
“And when leadership changes?” He lifts the drink again, taking a slow swallow before answering. “They adapt. They wait for the right moment.”
The calm explanation leaves little room for interpretation.
“You think Ivan’s ‘old man’ could be someone like that?”
“It’s a possibility,” he answers.
“And if he is?”
Kiren drags a hand down his face before focusing on me again. “Then the situation is larger than Ivan alone.”
Evening deepens gradually around the estate. By the time our conversation quiets, the last traces of daylight have disappeared beyond the tree line that borders the property. Moonlight reflects across the snow outside the tall windows, filling the grounds with a soft silver glow.
Inside the house, the lights remain low. A warm lamp glows near the far wall of the sitting room, its golden light pooling softly over the dark wood furniture and the patterned rug beneath my feet. The fireplace hasn’t been lit tonight, but the faint scent of burning wood still lingers from earlier in the afternoon when someone in the staff started a fire to warm the main level of the house.
The estate feels peaceful. Calmer than it should feel, given everything that has happened. I sit quietly on the sofa while Kiren remains across from me in the chair he claimed earlier. The tension that followed his arrival has eased slightly now that we have spoken, though a thoughtful silence lingers between us.
