Chapter Text
Snezhnograd was a beautiful city.
Even after decades of living there, Feofan still found himself pausing whenever the sky was clear enough to reveal the beautiful stars of the night. They stretched endlessly above the snow-covered rooftops, and on winter evenings the city glittered beneath them like a sea of scattered diamonds.
Tonight, however, the stars were hidden. Dark clouds hung low over the capital, spilling rain across the streets. Through the tavern window, Feofan watched water drum against rooftops and run through the gutters in muddy streams. Wonderful. The weather matched his mood perfectly.
Seated at the edge of the table, he leaned back in his chair and slipped a cigarette between his lips. The tobacco tasted as bitter as the weather was grey. He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke disappear into the haze that already filled the tavern. He would have preferred to spend the evening at home with a cup of coffee, a good book, and, most importantly, silence. Instead, he was here. Following his superior around like an obedient dog. The tavern was very warm compared to the rain-soaked and icy streets outside. Smoke filled the air, mixing with the scent of alcohol and wet cloth from recently arrived patrons. Laughter echoed from nearby tables, disrupted only by the clinking of glasses.
Feofan took another drag from his cigarette and returned his attention to the rain beyond the window, trying his best to ignore the increasingly intoxicated company seated around him. The room was crowded, full of merchants, laborers, soldiers and seemed to try drinking enough to forget about the rain outside.
His boss was certainly succeeding. The chairman of the Northland Bank's Snezhnayan branch occupied the largest table in the room, surrounded by half-empty bottles and equally intoxicated associates. His booming laughter echoed through the tavern. For a Harbinger, he looked ridiculous. His white tengu wings drooped lazily behind his chair, feathers disheveled from drink and neglect. The unusual coloration had made him an outsider in Inazuma. Feofan suspected his personality had done the rest.
"Feofan!" the older man shouted. "Come on, drink some more, friend!"
A bottle was shoved toward him and Feofan accepted enough wine to be polite. Around him, conversation stumbled drunkenly from one topic to another. Complaints about taxes. Complaints about merchants. Complaints about the weather. Eventually, as always, the chairman began complaining about his favorite subject.
His own life.
"That woman ruined everything," he grumbled before draining half a glass in one big swallow.
One of the bankers groaned. "You've been divorced for fifteen years!"
"And?" The chairman slammed the glass down. "She was impossible. Always criticizing me. She could complain for hours without a single point. Some thought she was a gold-digger, but the only thing she kept digging at were my goddamn nerves! "
"Most wives complain when their husbands spend half their income on alcohol," one of Feofan’s colleagues laughed and the table followed, erupting into loud laughter.
The chairman scowled. "It wasn't half."
"Three quarters?"
More laughter. Feofan remained silent, watching his wine and only barely smiling to not seem rude. What followed was the usual. The chairman launched into a familiar tirade. First, about his ex-wife. Then, his former business partners. Eventually, his children, some of his subordinates, who didn’t attend today, the price of groceries and the Tsaritsa's politics. No one really responded particularly well to the last point, fearing of evoking the wrath of the archon.
By the time he reached the topic of Inazuma, several people were already trying unsuccessfully to change the subject.
"That nation is rotten," the chairman declared. "They never appreciated me."
I wonder why, Feofan thought and sighed quietly, hoping no one would notice his annoyance and impatience. Maybe he should have left earlier but then he can listen to the Chairman’s complaints tomorrow at work, about why he wouldn’t join them today.
"You challenged a shrine maiden to a drinking contest, lost, and got arrested," another man said, slamming his glass on the table. “And you didn’t leave them alone afterwards either. Although, I am not sure I could. I heard the women are beautiful in Inazuma.”
"That happened once," the chairman corrected. "And yes, absolutely beautiful girls we had there!"
Feofan pinched the bridge of his nose. Every conversation followed this pattern. Every single one. The old fool drank, complained, repeated stories everyone had heard dozens of times, and stumbled into political commentary before the night was over. And this man was a Harbinger. One of the Tsaritsa's chosen. Feofan stared into his glass. Snezhnaya’s future has never looked this promising. Meanwhile, Feofan worked for years as hard as he could. Years of managing accounts, negotiating contracts, solving crises, and cleaning up disasters left behind by people far more important than himself. Yet he remained Vice President, while this drunken relic occupied both the chairman's position and the title of Harbinger.
The thought left a sour taste in his mouth.
Feofan’s focus shifted to the room as he was desperately trying to find something or someone more interesting than his boss. Unfortunately for him, it was hard to listen to conversations at other tables when his table was the loudest in the room.
“If I may excuse myself. I will be right back.”
No one paid him much attention. The chairman merely waved a hand while continuing his rant about Inazuman politics to a group of increasingly disinterested listeners, who tried to change the subject desperately. Feofan felt almost victorious about being able to leave for a bit.
So, he rose from his seat, buttoned his coat, and made his way toward the entrance. The moment he stepped outside, cold air filled his lungs, and he breathed out loudly as a sign of disappointment. Even though he was born in Snezhnaya, he always preferred the weather in Liyue. Sometimes he found himself cursing the fact that his parents had decided to bring him up in this country, instead of Liyue, where his mother was from.
He stopped beneath the tavern's awning, sheltered from the rain. The city was little more than a blur of lantern light and dark silhouettes moving through the storm during rainy nights like this. Perhaps he would simply remain here until his boss was too drunk to remember he existed. He lit another cigarette and allowed himself a long drag, then breathed out the smoke slowly as if he was savoring it like the wine inside.
What a bad habit, he thought. But how else was he supposed to tolerate his job and coworkers?
"A fascinating expression." The raspy voice appeared from nowhere.
Feofan turned to see a tall man stand a few paces away beneath the same awning. He had approached so quietly that Feofan hadn't heard him.
The stranger's mask concealed most of his face, while parts of his blue hair spilled from beneath it. Even in the dim lantern light there was something unsettling about him, something distinctly wrong. Feofan couldn’t quite describe this feeling. Is it because he was caught off-guard?
The man tilted his head. "Those are the eyes of someone yearning for freedom."
Feofan blinked. For a moment, he genuinely wondered whether the stranger was speaking to someone behind him or if he was imagining him. Maybe he had finally went insane after all.
"I'm afraid you've mistaken me for somebody else."
"Have I?" The man sounded rather amused. "I don't believe so."
Feofan remained silent as the stranger continued studying him with a level of interest usually reserved for animals, or objects. It was uncomfortable and off-putting. Still, Feofan had spent years working in finance and the Northland Bank. He was accustomed to eccentric people.
"Then I suppose I should apologize for giving such an impression."
"Oh, no apology necessary. I find it rather refreshing." The man stepped closer in one big step. Rainwater glimmered on his coat. Feofan had a hard time placing this man in any familiar boxes. He didn’t seem drunk, but what sober person approached people in this manner? "You looked positively miserable in there."
Feofan glanced through the tavern window. So, he had not been wrong about being slightly creeped out by him. For how long did this stranger watch him for?
"An understandable conclusion." He tried staying composed in the face of the bizarre situation. Feofan considered ending the conversation there. Unfortunately, curiosity got the better of him.
"And who exactly are you, if I may ask?"
The stranger looked almost delighted by the question.
"Ah. How rude of me." He placed a hand over his chest. "Il Dottore."
His hand froze halfway to his cigarette. Of course, he was familiar with the name. Dottore, the Second Harbinger of the Fatui. A dozen memories of his boss surfaced at once.
His chairman grumbling over another bottle of liquor, complaining about his Fatui colleagues.
“Madman,” he had called Dottore.
Another evening. This little conversation happened at a meeting of the most important bankers of the Northland Bank and after the chairman had just come home from an important business meeting with the Second Harbinger.
“Don't let him near your finances. Or your family. Or your pets. Or anything alive.”
It was a rare moment of Feofan's boss being dead serious and almost sounding scared. Someone else had asked whether those stories were exaggerated but the chairman shook his head.
"No. If anything, I am understating the danger. I reiterate; do not work with that man if you value your life." Then he had paused and looked through the room, holding brief eye contact with everyone. “Or your job.”
Feofan had always assumed that while there may be some truth to it, it was probably more of a personal dislike for his colleague than genuine worry. Looking at the man standing before him now, he found himself reconsidering that conclusion, although, he couldn’t quite shake off the curiosity either.
“It is nice to finally put a face to the name,” Feofan then finally said, taking another drag from his cigarette. “I have heard many things of you, although I must admit, none of those things are particularly nice.”
The Harbinger's smile widened. “How unfortunate. Sadly, my colleague and I are on rather bad terms. He invites everyone to drinks sometimes, yet I am never invited. How utterly cruel.”
Feofan hummed quietly. For someone who was supposedly disappointed in his boss, he sounded rather unbothered. Suddenly, it was no longer hard to imagine why his boss disliked him. As much of an alcoholic and fool as the chairman could be, he was not unintelligent. If nothing else, he knew his friends and his enemies.
"And yet," Feofan said. "You seem remarkably cheerful about it."
"Should I be upset?"
"I imagine most people would be."
"Most people are dreadfully bothered by the opinions of others."
Feofan found himself laughing quietly. Well, whatever madman was hiding beneath his appearance, he was quite refreshing as a conversational partner. The Harbinger immediately noticed. The rain continued to fall around them. For a few moments neither spoke as Feofan thought about his words. So, that was the kind of person this man was. A scientist who disregarded any external input. They say the top Harbingers rival the power of gods. Was that where his confidence came from? Power? Or was his intelligence the source?
"So," the Harbinger eventually said. "Vice president of the Northland Bank."
Feofan's eyes narrowed and he turned his head towards Dottore. "You know who I am."
"Of course."
"You looked me up?"
Dottore tilted his head. "That sounds rather invasive. I was merely interested in you, so I did some research."
"Which was, I suspect, rather was invasive," Feofan tried to remain calm despite rising uncertainty. What man admits to such matters openly to a stranger? What has he found? Suddenly, he felt naked. He could know everything about him, meanwhile, all Feofan knew his name and occupation.
"Very. But you should be flattered."
"I am concerned," Feofan admitted and raised an eyebrow.
"That is reasonable but believe me, you are an interesting person. Interesting enough for me to investigate." Dottore leaned casually against one of the wooden support beams.
"Your profits."
"My profits?"
"Your efficiency. The number of financial disasters you've prevented. I see that you are a hard worker through and through, perhaps the hardest worker in the whole Northland Bank."
Feofan frowned but when he opened his mouth to politely refuse this compliment, he stayed silent. He knew it was true and he basked in the compliments, although he did wonder why he was trying to butter the banker up this much. The simplest answer was probably the most accurate, which is that he was trying to get something from him.
"You're very good at what you do," Dottore continued. "Exceptionally so."
At some point, the compliments started to feel threatening.
"Thank you."
The Harbinger studied him for a moment. "Tell me. Do you enjoy your work?"
Feofan considered the question carefully, before deciding that Dottore didn’t need to know the full truth.
"I do. My work is enjoyable." It was part of the truth and he was exceptionally good at it too. There was only one thing he disliked about work.
"And your chairman?" And Dottore hit it right on the head.
Feofan almost smiled. "He can be difficult, but I am satisfied."
"What a diplomatic answer."
"I am a diplomat."
"No, you're a banker."
"Bankers are diplomats with ledgers."
Dottore grinned, then in one swift motion he took off his mask. Red eyes surfaced from beneath it, staring at Feofan like a piece of meat. He wasn’t sure when, but he felt certain about having made a mistake. Regardless, he noticed the light markings of a scar that was caught by the dim light of a light when he turned his head slightly. Feofan found himself staring for longer than necessary.
“You’re a liar as well. Dear Vize President, I would prefer to have an honest discussion.”
Rainwater splashed onto the cobblestones. Inside the tavern, someone shouted loudly enough that both men could hear it through the walls. Feofan didn't need to look to know who it was.
"For how long have you worked under him?" Dottore continued questioning him. This barely felt like a conversation anymore.
"Nearly ten years."
"Ten." The Harbinger sounded fascinated and he touched his chin with his finger, as if he was deeply fascinated by the answer. He had an irritatingly symmetrical and good-looking face and Feofan hated himself for noticing.
"I must say, I am beginning to feel judged, and I do not appreciate that. I suggest a change of tone if you wish to continue this conversation," Feofan suggested defensively and finally stomped the rest of his cigarette on the ground with his heel.
Dottore snorted quietly. He did not seem particularly touched by Feofan's sentiment. "Ten years is a very long time for a mortal, no? And yet you remain Vice President? For how long will that be your job title? My colleague’s liver is not going to age particularly well, but he still has a few years before he passes. And then what? You will inherit his job title and … nothing?"
Feofan looked away toward the rain-soaked street. Was he trying to make a play at his ego? What for?
"I have done well for myself. Besides, I do not see your point, Dottore. Being the Vize President is already a huge honor." Lies, lies, lies. He was lying not only to Dottore but himself. It was a life he was content with but not satisfied. He was comfortable but not fulfilled by his duties.
"That wasn't my observation." Dottore folded his hands behind his back. "It strikes me as curious. Someone as ambitious as you remaining in the shadow of someone like him."
Feofan immediately felt his guard rise at the shift of tone when Dottore said the last few words. They were filled with disgust. The conversation had finally arrived somewhere dangerous, and he was getting anxious about whatever point that was being made. Yet at the same time, this was the first time someone seemed to recognize his ambition and greed for what it was. Still, people like Dottore rarely spoke without purpose. Whatever he was proposing will have a price. It was time for him to find out more.
"I think you've misjudged me. I am not particularly ambitious."
Dottore stared at him. Then he laughed so hard he had to turn away for a moment. The laughter was so loud, Feofan reconsidered his choice of words for a moment.
"Oh, that was wonderful." The Harbinger looked genuinely delighted. "Please tell me you don't actually believe that." The Harbinger's eyes glittered under the light.
Feofan sighed. "Perhaps I am somewhat ambitious. I still wonder though, what does all of this have to do with you?"
The rain had begun to lessen slightly and when Feofan looked up into the sky, some of the brightest stars started to appear from behind the cloud. Eventually Dottore spoke again.
"Tell me, Feofan." The use of his name immediately drew his attention. Dottore glanced through the tavern window, toward the chairman, who has started dancing lazily with a woman. Dottore watched the spectacle for several seconds before looking back at Feofan. "Have you ever wondered what it would be like to sit in his chair instead?"
Feofan laughed quietly, although it was not necessarily an honest laugh. "What a dangerous question to ask a banker, Doctor. We make our living looking at numbers and imagining what could be done with more of them."
Dottore tilted his head slightly. "You did not deny it."
"I did not confirm it either."
"No, but you immediately began negotiating with the premise. I theorize that this is not merely due to the fact that you are a banker."
Feofan exhaled slowly and looked through the tavern window again. For years he had endured such evenings and for years he had told himself they were a small inconvenience in exchange for everything else. The salary. The influence. The opportunities. The future.
"It would be foolish not to think about advancement," he said eventually. "Any competent employee should aspire to improve their circumstances."
"Advancement. What a wonderfully sterile term."
"I fail to see the issue."
"Oh, there is no issue at all. I merely find it fascinating how people insist on dressing their desires in respectable clothing."
Feofan raised an eyebrow. "And what desire do you believe I am dressing up?"
"Power."
The answer didn’t sound mocking and was stated simply as a statement of fact.
"Influence. Authority. Recognition. The ability to shape events rather than react to them. Call it advancement if you wish. The name is painfully irrelevant."
Dottore's eyes narrowed slightly. Feofan looked away toward the rain. Ordinarily, he would have dismissed such observations as the ramblings of an eccentric. The troubling thing was that Dottore was not entirely wrong. This man… it was as if he had decided to open him like a book and read every detail with care.
"You work for the largest financial institution in Teyvat and oversee transactions that move nations. Merchants, nobles, diplomats and military officers all depend on decisions that pass through your desk. Yet despite all of that, I suspect you still feel as though someone else is holding the reins."
Feofan remained silent as Dottore continued to read him and turn his pages. He hated that he was beginning to enjoy this conversation, or interrogation. It was surely more entertaining than anything happening inside the tavern.
"How fortunate. For a moment I feared I had misjudged you. You know, your chairman and I disagree on many matters. However, it seems I have discovered yet another thing we disagree on."
"And what would that be?"
"I simply cannot understand why you remain where you are."
Feofan scoffed. "I am Vice President of the Northland Bank. It is hardly an insignificant position."
"That is not what I implied. Permit me to phrase it differently. Imagine that tomorrow morning the Tsaritsa herself decided to evaluate the bank. Imagine she arrived unannounced and spent a week observing its operations. At the end of that week, who do you think she would conclude was truly responsible for its success?"
Feofan did not need to answer because, for some reason, both of them knew the truth. Heavens, everyone who worked with him or his boss knew that the chairman barely did anything at the bank.
"Exactly." Dottore seemed satisfied with himself.
For reasons he could not explain, irritation began to stir in his chest. Not toward Dottore but toward the fact that the man was speaking thoughts Feofan had spent years carefully suppressing. These were dangerous thoughts he did not want to indulge in too long. Resentful thoughts. The sort that transformed loyal subordinates into rivals and can kill careers if one was consumed by them.
"The world does not reward merit as often as people claim," Feofan said. “It rewards results and sometimes those are different things."
Dottore grinned from ear to ear and pointed with an index finger at Feofan. "Now there is a sentiment I would expect from a future Harbinger."
Feofan nearly choked on his spit. Was that what he was aiming at the whole time? It was such an abstract and absurd thought that he had missed that subtext of the conversation entirely. The words should have sounded more absurd the longer he thought about it but instead, they lingered and his heart began pounding with excitement. Perhaps because he had imagined it before. Never seriously, but occasionally. During long nights spent correcting mistakes that were never his own. During meetings where less competent men received praise for work, he had done. He had wondered. What would happen if the chairman simply... wasn't there.
The thought had always felt ugly, so, he buried it. Dottore, unfortunately, seemed determined to dig it back up.
"Tell me, when you look through that window, what exactly do you see?"
Feofan followed his gaze. The chairman nearly fell off his chair while the new woman next to him seemed unsure whether to stay or to go. Several colleagues caught him and everyone laughed. He was barely a chairman, but a jester in this very moment. They laughed at him and he probably didn’t even realize it. How utterly sad.
For a moment, Feofan considered offering a charitable answer, but he decided to follow Dottore’s wish for an honest conversation.
"I see someone who wastes opportunities most people would kill for."
Dottore's smile widened almost imperceptibly. There it is, Feofan thought. That was the answer he wanted to hear that bad. Not because it revealed hatred. Not just. Most important of all, it revealed his hunger. It was an emotion Feofan tried to hide desperately as he tried not to get completely consumed by his greed. It was an extremely ugly feeling.
Dottore folded his hands behind his back again and regarded the tavern with the detached curiosity of a scholar studying an insect.
"The majority of people, when presented with mediocrity, merely complain about it." His eyes now shifted toward Feofan. "Far fewer become angry. And anger is an emotion I regard as a driver of change."
Feofan felt an uncomfortable tightness in his chest. Dottore continued speaking as easily as if he was discussing the rain, staying calm and smiling menacingly.
"That brings me to a question I have been considering all evening. If an obstacle stood between you and everything you desired, how far would you be willing to go in order to remove it?"
Feofan's hands tightened into fists as he thought about his question and about Dottore's excited, yet oddly terrifying expression.
"Most obstacles are things that cannot simply be removed."
"Most of them can. Those who are a bit harder to remove are usually people and either way, the distinction between those things is paper-thin."
The answer arrived so casually that it took a moment for its implications to fully register. Feofan stared at him as the Harbinger turned his head to watch the rain. A genuine sense of unease crept into Feofan's chest. How many people has this man deemed an obstacle before?
Then, after a brief moment of silence where Feofan wanted to collect his thoughts into words, Dottore sighed dramatically. "Oh, very well. Let me put it into easy and blunt words. Your chairman is an incompetent drunk who has spent the better part of a century wasting positions that more capable people could have used to far greater effect."
The bluntness nearly made Feofan choke on his spit again. The content of his words was not surprising to Feofan, but the sheer audacity to utter them here freely on the street, made the banker want to disappear into a secret room, where no one would be able to listen to them discuss this matter.
"He is politically useless, financially irresponsible, strategically frustratingly unimaginative and personally irritating." Feofan stared as Dottore continued as though rant about his boss like it was the quarterly reports. He did not seem bothered to discuss this on an open street at all. Although, Feofan noted, if anyone heard, they would probably just be an easy obstacle for Dottore to remove.
"Meanwhile, his Vice President manages the institution and possesses enough ambition to accomplish something meaningful if given the opportunity. He is an obstacle not only for me but your personal progress. And obstacles are in need of getting rid of."
He paused and looked at Feofan again. His red eyes reflected the light of the nearest streetlight. This was the most interesting proposal the banker had received in a long time. Now this was an investment.
"Disliking somebody and discussing their assassination are very different matters."
"Are they?" The question was alarmingly sincere. This man had certainly lost all consideration for human life. Feofan was beginning to understand why so many stories about Dottore existed. This man seemed fundamentally detached from concepts that constrained everyone else.
Dottore folded his arms in front of his chest. "If your chairman were to suffer an unfortunate and irreversible accident, I would personally recommend you as his successor."
The words hit like a physical blow right into Feofan's stomach. Okay, sure, this man is practically promising the entirety of Teyvat because…what? He dislikes his fellow Harbinger? Is that reason enough to get rid of someone? And if the answer was no, then why did Feofan's fingers itch and why was his mouth running dry with excitement? This was the greed that had lingered in him for so many years.
"Of course, not merely as chairman of the bank but as a Harbinger."
"And you believe the Tsaritsa would simply approve such a recommendation?"
"No." Dottore's amusement was clear as day. Feofan felt almost toyed with. "I believe she would approve a recommendation supported by results and fortunately for you, your predecessor has spent years lowering expectations."
Despite the situation he was in, Feofan almost laughed like he had heard the best joke in his life. The absurdity of the situation was overwhelming. Fifteen minutes ago, he had been trying to escape an irritating evening and now one of the most dangerous men in Teyvat was calmly offering him a Harbinger's seat in exchange for murder.
"Why?" Dottore's expression shifted. “Why me? You could get rid of this obstacle yourself. Or is there perhaps something that you need from me?”
The Doctor sighed. "I don’t think I need to explain this, but the Northland Bank is the foundation upon which much of the Fatui's influence rests. Military campaigns require funding. Diplomatic operations require funding. And so does research."
There was an emphasis on the last part. There it was. Dottore's piece of the cake.
"And your research requires rather a lot of it, I imagine."
Dottore laughed. "A good observation. But I think there is need for clarification, as an honest potential business partner. I need you to understand the type of experiments I would like to conduct."
The Harbinger inclined his head. “Would you believe me, a simple human, am a about eighty years old?
Feofan raised an eyebrow. "I believe that you are capable of convincing people of many things. Whether I would believe the claim itself is another matter entirely."
"A sensible answer, but fortunately for you, this is not a mere claim. It is as true as the fact that I am standing in front of you right now." Dottore seemed pleased rather than offended. "I take it your chairman has never shared the more colorful rumors?"
"He has shared so many that it becomes difficult to distinguish between rumor and drunken exaggeration," Feofan admitted with a smile and shrugged.
"An unfortunate problem." Dottore placed a hand against his chest in mock offense. "My reputation suffers terribly from being discussed by people with geo-slime for brains. A fresh Akademiya scholar spreads better ideas."
Dottore continued to gesture wildly, before calming himself by breathing out loudly. "Nevertheless, the claim is true. I have lived far longer than any ordinary human should. Through research."
Feofan studied him carefully. "And that research will require my funding."
"It requires many things." Dottore's gaze drifted toward the tavern. "Facilities. Personnel. Test subjects and more time than most people are fortunate enough to possess." The casual mention of test subjects did not escape Feofan's notice. At this point in the conversation, this barely surprised him. Still, he made a mental note. Not because he was against it, but because of the potential risks and scandals.
"I am beginning to understand why my boss described you as a madman."
"Oh, don’t flatter me. The distinction between a scientist and a madman is matter of definition."
For a moment, the Harbinger's demeanor shifted. The amusement remained, but something colder lurked beneath it.
"Tell me, Feofan. If a scientist discovers a path capable of changing the course of human history, would you condemn him for pursuing it simply because others lacked the stomach to witness the journey?"
Feofan chose his response carefully. "I suspect the answer depends heavily on what is sacrificed along the way."
Dottore's smile widened.
"I believe," Dottore said, studying him carefully. "That you are intelligent enough to understand that every great undertaking in history has demanded a prize."
Feofan found himself wondering whether Dottore was attempting to recruit a financier or simply determine how much darkness already existed within him. Perhaps both. Knowing Dottore, albeit only for half an hour, there was likely very little difference. Knowing himself, the darkness would soon consume him from the inside if this man enabled him to.
For the first time, Feofan found himself imagining the office as his own, drinking a tea and enjoying the fruits of his labor. A dream as sweet as a poisoned apple.
"You do not need to answer immediately," Dottore said.
Feofan looked away and his reflection stared back at him from the rain-streaked glass. There he was in the reflection. A respectable banker. A loyal employee. A rational man. Soon, a murderer.
"There is no need for further discussion."
"No?" Dottore looked stunned for the first time in their conversation.
“I will do it. Meet me here again tomorrow in the evening to sign the contract.”
That was the last thing Feofan said before turning around dramatically and stepping into the rain to get home. His colleagues would not miss him, if they still remember him ever being here at all. In the back, he heard Dottore’s quiet and deranged laugh.