The teahouse hummed quietly, the clink of porcelain and soft chatter continuing as if nothing had changed. But for Kato, the world had just shattered. Everything narrowed to three points: her own frozen body, the pale and shaking face of David Zaguri, and the two silent men by the door watching her with cold, professional eyes.
Fear hit her like a wave of ice. They had found her. It was over. They would take her away—to some dark, forgotten cell—and then what would happen to Soso?
Her thoughts snapped into motion. She remembered him pacing their small apartment, restless and sharp. "Leverage, Kato," he had said once, his tone grim. "They won't come for me directly if they think they hold a chain around my neck. And you, my love, are that chain."
The memory cut through her panic. She understood now. If they captured her, they wouldn't just take her life—they'd use her to destroy Soso. He would do something reckless to save her. He always would.
She couldn't let that happen. She had to act before they did.
Across the table, Zaguri looked pathetic—sweating, trembling, on the edge of collapse. He couldn't help her. But maybe he could be used.
A wild idea sparked in her mind. The men by the door expected a quiet arrest, an easy job. They were counting on silence. She would give them the opposite. She would give them chaos.
She drew a deep breath. Then, she changed. In that single moment, she stopped being Ekaterina Svanidze, the wife of a revolutionary. She became something else entirely—a furious, heartbroken woman.
Her chair screeched as she stood. The sudden sound cracked through the calm air like a gunshot. Every head in the teahouse turned.
"You!" she screamed, pointing at Zaguri with a shaking hand. "You monster! After all your promises to my husband? He trusted you! He told me you would protect me—and you try this?"
Zaguri blinked, speechless, confusion mixing with fear. The two men by the door froze. This wasn't in their plan. This was public.
Kato pressed on, her voice trembling with fake tears. "He tried to touch me!" she cried, her words echoing across the room. "He thought because my husband is gone, I was helpless! This man tried to take advantage of me!"
Gasps rippled through the room. The owner rushed over, his face red with shock. "Madam! What's going on?"
Zaguri stammered, his mouth opening and closing, but Kato didn't give him a chance. She slapped him. Hard. The crack rang out like a whip.
The teahouse erupted into chaos.
Two burly merchants stood from their table, fury written on their faces. "Is this true?" one demanded, glaring at Zaguri. "You dare lay a hand on her?"
The Okhrana agents hesitated, caught in a trap of their own. They couldn't reveal themselves. Not here. Not in front of all these people.
One tried to step forward, murmuring something about taking the man away quietly, but a merchant blocked him. "Stay back! We'll see the police handle this."
That was Kato's cue. While attention turned toward Zaguri, she clutched her face and sobbed. "I—I just need a moment," she said shakily to the owner. "Please… the ladies' room…"
He nodded, guiding her toward the back. The agents barely noticed. Their focus was on calming the chaos they had failed to prevent.
Kato slipped through the back corridor, then pushed through the kitchen doors. The smell of steam and boiled cabbage filled the air. She didn't stop. She grabbed the bolt on the back door, yanked it open, and stepped into a narrow alleyway.
Cold air hit her like a slap. She ran. Cobblestones slick beneath her shoes, breath tearing from her lungs, she kept moving until the teahouse was gone behind her.
When she finally stopped, she pressed herself into a dark corner between two buildings. Her chest heaved. Around the corner, she could hear whistles—police rushing toward the front of the teahouse, drawn by the scene she'd created.
She had done it. Against all odds, she'd escaped.
But the victory felt hollow. The adrenaline drained away, leaving a pit of fear. She had no money. No friends in this town. No idea where to go. The men who hunted her knew her face now.
She wasn't a hostage anymore.
She was a fugitive.