CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
RHYS SAT ON A STOOL in front of the counter in Sam's kitchen. He ran a hand over the polished concrete, as Sam dug around in a cupboard for a dusty, old tin of tea. He knew Dar had a special relationship with Sam; it was strange that didn't bother him more. He liked Sam. The man was good people under all the tattoos.
While the water for tea boiled, Sam made coffee for himself and Finn, using some contraption with levers and knobs and pressure gauges. Rhys wiggled his nose; tea was much simpler. Finn wandered the apartment, looking at the artwork — watercolour cityscapes Rhys suspected were Sam's own. Ivan stood sentinel by the door, though Rhys was unsure whether that was to protect them or because he felt unwelcome. Or he doesn't trust us. Rhys ignored that inner voi
