Nodding gratefully, I hand Alina my bowl. “I’d love some, thank you.” I’m beyond happy she’s acting normally. Hopefully, it’ll continue.
When she hands the bowl back to me, I try a spoonful of the grain she called “grechka.” It turns out to be surprisingly flavorful, with a rich, nutty taste. Mimicking what Alina is doing, I add fresh berries and walnuts into my bowl and drizzle the whole thing with honey.
“It’s roasted buckwheat,” she explains as I dig in. “Back home, it’s usually eaten as a savory side, often mixed with some variation of pan-fried carrots, mushrooms, and onions. But I like it this way, more like oatmeal.”
“I think it’s tastier than oatmeal.”
Alina nods, ladling Slava his portion of the grain. “That’s why I like it for breakfast.” She tops Slava’s bowl with berries, nuts, and a generous drizzle of honey and places it in front of the boy, who immediately sticks his spoon in. Instead of eating, however, he starts chasing a blueberry around the bowl while making engine noises under his breath.
I grin, realizing I’m finally seeing him play with his food like a normal kid. Catching his gaze, I wink and start stacking my blueberries on top of each other, like I’m building a tower. I make it only to the second level before the berries roll off each other, landing in the portion of the grain made sticky by the honey.
I grimace, feigning dismay, and Slava giggles and starts building a berry tower of his own. It turns out much better than mine since he uses honey as glue and props up his blueberries with cut strawberries.
“Very good,” I say with an impressed expression. “You really are a natural-born architect.”
He beams at me and proudly scoops up a spoonful of the grechka along with a chunk of his berry creation. Stuffing it into his mouth, he chews triumphantly while I praise him for being so clever. Encouraged, he builds another tower, and I make him laugh again by having one of my blackberries chase a blueberry that keeps rolling away from my spoon.
“You really do like children, don’t you?” Alina murmurs when Slava and I tire of the game and resume eating. Her expression is decidedly warmer, her green gaze filled with a peculiar wistfulness as she glances at her nephew. “It’s not just a job to you.”
“Of course not.” I smile at her. “Children are amazing. They can make us see the world as we once did… make us feel that sense of joy and wonder that the passing years steal from us. They’re the closest thing we have to a time machine—or at least a window to the past.”
Her lashes sweep down again, concealing the look in her eyes, but there’s no missing the sudden tension bracketing her mouth. “A window to the past…” Her voice holds a strangely brittle note. “Yes, that’s exactly what Slava is.”
And before I can ask what she means, she changes the topic to today’s cooler weather.
25
Nikolai
“We have a problem,” Konstantin says in lieu of a greeting as his face—a leaner, more ascetic version of mine, with black-rimmed glasses perched high on his hawkish nose—fills my laptop screen.
I lean closer to the camera, my pulse speeding up with anticipation. “What did you find out?”
Konstantin frowns. “Oh, about the girl? Nothing yet. My team’s still working on it.” Oblivious to the sharp sting of disappointment he’s just delivered, he continues. “It’s my nuclear project. The Tajik government has just pulled our permits.”
I inhale and slowly let the air out. At times like this, I want to strangle my older brother. “So what?” He has to know I don’t give two fucks about his pet projects, especially ones that verge on science fiction.
Then again, maybe he doesn’t. Despite his genius-level IQ—or possibly because of it—Konstantin can be remarkably unaware of what’s going on around him, especially if it involves people instead of zeroes and ones.
“So Valery thinks it’s the Leonovs,” he says, eyes gleaming behind the lenses of his glasses. “Atomprom is bidding against us, and Alexei was spotted having lunch with the head of the Energy Commission in Dushanbe.”
Fuck. It’s all I can do to hide the flare of rage searing through me.
I was wrong. My brother is very much aware of what he’s doing by involving me in this. If it were anyone but the Leonovs, I wouldn’t give two fucks—business is business—but there’s no way I’m letting their interference slide.
Not after Slava.
“Did Valery—” I begin grimly, but Konstantin is already shaking his head.
“The Energy Commission refused to talk to him. Some bullshit about avoiding undue influence. Valery has a few ideas on how to proceed, but I figured I’d speak with you before we go down that path.”
I take another steadying breath and force my tense shoulders to unclench. “You did the right thing.” The persuasion tactics our younger brother likes to use might draw unnecessary attention, and after the stunt the Leonovs pulled two years ago, we’re already on thin ice with the Tajik authorities.