"Yes! I studied horticulture for a reason," Isadora said quickly, a hint of relief softening her tone. For a moment, the conversation felt almost normal—two women chatting over tea, not a tense encounter between strangers with invisible weapons drawn.
The waiter returned then, setting down two delicate porcelain cups and a small kettle filled with steaming green liquid. The faint aroma of herbs rose between them—earthy, sharp, and slightly medicinal.
Isadora stared at the liquid's murky green hue, her lips twitching faintly. Is this even edible? she wondered, forcing herself to pour some into her cup as Namira lifted hers with unhurried grace.
Namira took a slow, measured sip, her expression serene. Isadora hesitated, then mimicked the gesture, only to immediately regret it. The taste was bitter and strange—like wet leaves steeped in regret.
