The mountain light spilled into the breakfast room, scattering across silverware and the steam rising from the coffeepot.
Outside, the air was sharp and clean, but within the Zehntner palace, the fire and the scent of fresh bread kept the winter at bay.
Bruno sat at the head of the table, leisurely stirring cream into his coffee, papers stacked neatly at his elbow.
Heidi entered without ceremony, her robe drawn tight, hair still unpinned. She glanced at the papers, then at him, a knowing smile on her lips.
"So," she began, taking her seat, "how exactly do you intend to handle the little snare our dear Roosevelt thinks he's setting for you in Bern?"
Bruno looked up from his cup, one brow arching. "You've been reading the cables I leave lying around again."
