Chapter 16

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Surprisingly, despite all the time Yuri had spent in Canada, he had never once set foot inside a Tim Hortons. He had occasionally sampled whatever T-Mac or Alexei brought back, but that was the extent of his experience. The casual pleasures most people enjoyed without a second thought had never stirred even a flicker of curiosity in him.

Yuri did only what survival required, reducing his life to its barest, most mechanical essentials. He went to a large grocery store only when starvation loomed and left the refuge of his home only when he needed to hunt down car parts.

His friends were the only people who ever dragged him outside, but they had lives of their own and could not visit often. On the rare occasions he missed them, hearing their voices over the phone served as his sole form of entertainment. His existence was one of absolute asceticism.

Only after moving to a city like Vancouver had he encountered chain restaurants at all. Saratov had sprawled across a sparsely populated region where winter temperatures plunged as low as minus forty degrees. Migrants avoided the place, and after a ruthless Soviet-born criminal established himself in that godforsaken land, the city remained stunted for years, developing only as far as Igor’s iron grip allowed.

Still, shortly before they left, even Saratov had begun to acquire a few modest comforts.

Unlike Yuri’s world, which remained fixed and silent, the outside world changed with dizzying speed. Things that appeared immutable could transform before anyone noticed, and people who seemed destined to remain forever would eventually disappear.

Yuri was the sort of man who stayed exactly where he was, watching the world evolve as it left him behind. The walls he had built around himself were wide enough only for his friends to enter and rest for a while. He was a creature who should never stray beyond those boundaries, and he had found a perverse kind of peace inside that narrow enclosure. Within it were the work assigned to him, enough food to quiet his hunger, the occasional cigarette, and the books his mother had once read.

After living that way for so long, this was the first time he had entered a place like this of his own accord.

Inside Tim Hortons, young employees who still carried a trace of childhood in their faces hurried from task to task while Yuri placed his first awkward order. Because he hated meeting anyone’s eyes, he kept his head lowered and recited what he wanted in a clipped, blunt voice. The cashier startled at the sight of his face, then quickly concealed the reaction and began preparing the food. Realizing that the lingering marks of last night’s fight had frightened the young man left Yuri uncomfortable.

After ordering the same food Cherriot had bought, Yuri stopped at the adjoining convenience store. He intended to purchase only water and cigarettes, but then it occurred to him that bringing a few snacks might be prudent. Perhaps it was because Cherriot had confessed his fear. Yuri’s steps slowed before the chocolate aisle he would normally have passed without a glance.

The shelves overflowed with sweets. Gummies bright enough to make his teeth ache on sight, Twizzlers, countless varieties of chocolate bars, and bags of candy crowded his vision.

I don’t know what any of this is.

Because he had rarely eaten snacks as a child, Yuri could not begin to imagine what those colorful lumps of sugar tasted like. He had never possessed the spare change or leisure to linger in convenience stores, so desserts like the medovik his mother baked were the only sweets he remembered.

After her death, he had stopped eating even Russian desserts. Sweetness had ceased to be a pleasure and become a reminder of her, deepening the absence left by someone precious who would never return. At some point, treats had transformed into symbols of loss.

Unable to guess the tastes of a sports star five years his junior, Yuri grabbed a bag of candy, some potato chips, and a chocolate bar advertised as high in protein. He took whatever happened to catch his eye and paid, all the while wondering whether it was truly sensible to fuel such an expensive body with junk.

When he stepped outside again, the sky blazed with light. A cool breeze carried the faint, pleasant scent of green leaves. To Yuri, who had traveled almost exclusively between home and the repair shop, the unfamiliar midday of a highway rest stop looked beautiful enough to be unsettling.

The thought made him lower his gaze. The paper bag in his hand swung awkwardly when he bowed his head. Uneasy, he reached into the left pocket of his coat to anchor himself in something real, and his fingers closed around the two burner phones he had taken from the intruders the night before.

Before calling Alexei, Yuri considered where to conceal them. It would be best to leave the phones somewhere Alexei could retrieve before they traveled much farther. He had originally intended to hide them while leaving the hotel, but—

The memory of the shooting snapped his wandering thoughts back into place. The scent of fresh grass vanished beneath the oily reek of gunpowder and the metallic tang of blood running from his nose.

After a moment’s consideration, Yuri powered off both phones and headed for the men’s restroom. The facility, wedged between Tim Hortons and the gas station, looked well maintained and reasonably clean. Once he had confirmed that no one else was inside, he searched the receptacle beneath the paper-towel dispenser and pushed the phones deep into its interior.

If Alexei recovered them and traced the contacts, they might finally obtain a useful lead.

With the urgent matter settled, Yuri paused before the sink. The mirror reflected a pale man dressed in clothes as bleak as the life he had led. The bruise on his cheekbone had darkened during sleep and now spread across his skin in a blackish-red stain.

I’ve been walking around looking like this?

He mocked himself faintly and set the paper bag beside the sink. Cold water rushed from the faucet. As he slid his fingers beneath the stream, the sharp chill ran through him.

He washed his face with water made bracingly cold by contrast with the warm air outside, then left the restroom. Roughly fifteen minutes had passed. The fact that he had exceeded the ten minutes he had promised bothered him, so he lengthened his stride.

Fortunately, Cherriot remained safe inside the car. He had neither bolted nor trapped some stranger in conversation. Better still, like a well-behaved child, he had raised the window almost all the way, leaving only a gap wide enough for one finger.

Seeing Cherriot glare at him with a strangely sulky expression felt deeply unfamiliar and, against all reason, faintly amusing. It was like encountering something where it did not belong: a lion inside an apartment, or a pink balloon floating in the heart of a dark forest. Yuri could not define the feeling precisely, only that the sight of someone so incongruous sitting inside his car unsettled the familiar shape of the world.

Cherriot also looked rather like an enormous dog sulking because its owner had gone out without him.

From the moment Yuri came into view, Cherriot never looked away. By the time Yuri reached the passenger side and opened the door, Cherriot’s face had brightened a little, and his annoyingly cheerful voice returned.

“I almost suffocated to death waiting for you.”

He exaggerated often, but not yet beyond what Yuri could endure. Or perhaps Yuri had simply adapted during the course of a single day.

“You left yourself an air hole.”

“I have excellent lung capacity. That little gap wasn’t nearly enough.”

“Right.” Yuri gave a slight nod and jerked his chin toward the other seat. “Move over. I’ll drive from here.”

“How do you know where we’re going?”

“I assume navigation exists for a reason. Tell me the destination, and it will give me the route.”

Cherriot hummed thoughtfully, then climbed out of the driver’s seat. Despite his constant complaints, he had begun obeying with relative ease, and Yuri decided he was becoming somewhat easier to handle.

After they switched places, Yuri tossed the paper bag into Cherriot’s lap. Cherriot bent over it and peered inside.

“Huh? Why is there so much?”

His voice brightened like a boy’s. Before Yuri could answer, Cherriot drew out the chocolate bar and looked at him.

“Were you that hungry?”

Yuri considered how to explain. He would have preferred to ignore the question and drive away, but he still needed to retrieve his charging cable, and Cherriot would likely keep talking until he received an answer. With little choice, Yuri glanced at the bag, faced forward, and spoke quietly.

“They’re yours.”

“Mine?”

Cherriot rummaged through the snacks with visible surprise, then gave a soft laugh.

“All of this? I eat well, but not that much.”

Had Yuri bought too much? Having no interest in snacks himself, he had no idea how filling those small bars and bags might be.

“Don’t tell me you bought all this because you didn’t know what I liked.”

Cherriot sounded as though he were joking. Yuri tightened his grip on the wheel and spent several seconds considering his reply. Admitting the truth felt strangely awkward, so he offered as much of it as he could manage.

“Sweet things help people calm down.”

In other words, eat something and be quiet for a while.

“Mm.”

Cherriot fell silent, apparently taken aback by the unexpected gift. The quiet inside the car quickly turned awkward. Yuri sat rigidly, glaring at the blameless steering wheel. As the silence lengthened, he began to wonder what Cherriot was doing and finally turned his head.

Their eyes met.

Cherriot was watching him. His reddish-brown lashes lay softly over clear green irises, making him appear gentler than usual. Reflected light glimmered in those transparent eyes before they shifted beneath Yuri’s stare.

“Thank you.”

The moment Yuri saw the rounded curve of Cherriot’s eyes, the same feeling that had struck him beneath the open sky returned. The man thanking him seemed like scenery from another world, something too beautiful for Yuri to look at and never meant for someone like him.

He had not expected gratitude from an ordinary person. Twice now.

Being thanked for saving a life was understandable. Cherriot might have felt indebted because the stakes had been so high. But gratitude for something as trivial as snacks was different, especially from a man who could abandon hundreds of dollars on a table without noticing.

Even after learning what Yuri was, Cherriot still thanked him.

The words felt as though they did not belong to a sinner, and the inside of Yuri’s ears began to itch and sting. He broke eye contact by force, then answered flatly so the gratitude could not acquire any special meaning.

“I’m your employee for the time being.”

Yet thank you continued echoing in his ears, and Yuri wanted to smother the sound.

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t thank me again.”

He knew too well how vast an emptiness something warm and gentle could leave behind once it disappeared. He had no intention of allowing anything similar into his life again.

His words took the shape of a request, but half resembled a threat. Had Cherriot been one of the men Yuri normally dealt with, Yuri would have warned him only once before enforcing obedience. With Cherriot, however, this was the greatest intimidation he could manage. He had already overlooked several things because Cherriot was a civilian, and after glimpsing fear in those green eyes, Yuri found him more difficult to handle with his former sharpness.

Yuri had always struggled with the weak. Most people found those stronger than themselves intimidating. Yuri was the opposite.

Ordinary people were like butterflies whose wings would crumble beneath careless fingers. They frightened easily, and the world Yuri considered routine filled them with dread. His mother had taught him that long ago, repeating the lesson until it became part of him.

“Even if weaker people don’t always need your help, you must respect them. If you are strong, it isn’t because you are superior. It is because God granted you the grace to stand on your own two feet.”

Yuri no longer believed in God, nor could he accept his mother’s words as unquestioningly as he once had, but her teachings remained carved into his chest like an epitaph.

Cherriot, however, occupied an uncertain category. He was an Alpha and a physically gifted athlete who had no need of Yuri’s strength. He had even subdued the criminal who attacked him in the hotel room.

Physically, Cherriot was not weak at all.

Yet the image of him admitting that he feared people like Yuri, people who had crossed the line, kept catching in Yuri’s mind. It made it difficult to treat him with the same harshness as when they had first met.

“No.”

Perhaps Cherriot sensed something of Yuri’s hesitation, because he immediately rejected the request. The refusal came so quickly, as though the matter did not merit consideration, that Yuri’s brow tightened.

“Like you said, I’m the employer. I’ll do as I please.”

Cherriot did not stop with that unsatisfactory answer. Pointing at the Tim Hortons bag, he added, “I’ll enjoy breakfast too. Thank you.”