#melina.

“And it has served you well.”

No matter how much disgust Yelena applies to her story-telling so as to make survival an inevitable defect. The damage done simply by existing brand of fatalism gets on Melina’s nerves, as all American attitudes do.

Yelena’s eyes shouldn’t be so glazed. She has just saved her own life, with her own hands.

Admittedly, bare hands. Next time, Melina would suggest more polish and less unbridled rage. That alludes to issues, and those to weakness. The body bleeding out over the coffee table is bent strangely.

It’s a shame about the Tabriz rug.

Her mask slips, but only because Alexei’s is stuck on so perfectly, day or night, whether he realizes or not. He looks so handsome in it. The mirror makes it so easy: Melina’s wandering eye studies over his big, big hands, to the thumb she had in her mouth at lunch.

“That would not have been very professional.”

His roles are very immersive. Melina’s training is far from at fault for not being able to tell when he’s acting. Can he?

“You are a career man. You don’t have to admit it.”

Nor does Aleksy and nor will Milena. Using her real name cuts her a little, but she will never let them have it. Not even him, only like this.

“Help me with the zipper, would you. Correct direction this time.”