There are few things more dangerous than an enemy who offers you tea.
Loid knew this. He'd once been poisoned at a soiree in Milan with a biscuit shaped like a dove. He woke up two days later tied to a chair and surrounded by highly offended pastry chefs.
So when Melinda Desmond extended a personal invitation to her "small, casual" tea party—only four days after their first PTA meeting—he smiled, accepted, and began planning for chemical warfare.
The invitation had arrived in a sealed envelope, wax-stamped and scented with something expensive enough to make him briefly dizzy. It included a dress code ("pastels or perish") and a menu with an aggressive number of words like infusion, artisan, and lightly foraged.
Anya stared at it, upside-down.
"This smells like danger," she said, then sneezed. "And too much flower."
"She's inviting me to her estate," Loid explained to Yor, placing the letter on the counter with tongs. "Which means she's either testing me or trying to impress me. Possibly both."
"Do I get to come?" Anya asked.
"No."
"Awww."
Yor glanced over from slicing fruit with the precision of a sniper. "Should I prepare a weapon in case she tries something?"
He gave her a look. "Yor, it's a social event. Not an ambush."
"…What if it's a social ambush?"
"…Fair point."
Desmond Estate.
A sprawling marvel of aristocratic excess nestled on the edge of the city. Surveillance drones disguised as butterflies flitted over rose gardens. The gate guard gave him a smile that said, I've had tactical training and I know where your kidneys are.
Loid was shown into a sun-drenched tea room by a butler who moved like a retired assassin. Four women were already seated, all sipping from fine porcelain, dressed in shades of polite hostility and strategic lip gloss.
And at the head of the table—Melinda Desmond. Regal. Relaxed. Radiating unstable wine aunt energy.
"Mr. Forger," she said, waving her teacup like a queen knighting a particularly tolerable peasant. "You came."
"I heard there would be small sandwiches," he replied smoothly.
She laughed.
The others did not.
[Mission Start: Afternoon Tea of Psychological Doom.][Primary Objective: Survive. Secondary Objective: Gather Intelligence on Donovan Desmond's Schedule. Bonus: Impress Melinda Without Accidentally Proposing Marriage.]
For the first twenty minutes, it was a minefield of conversation.
They talked about dressage. Private chefs. The struggle of finding good pearls. One woman casually mentioned her third husband as if he were a seasonal trend.
Loid nodded politely, sipping tea with all the grace of a man suppressing the urge to launch a chair through the window.
[System Alert: Social Fatigue Rising. Deploy Dry Humor Protocol?]
Yes. Absolutely.
When one woman sneered, "And what exactly does your wife do, Mr. Forger?" he replied without missing a beat:
"She arranges flowers. And the occasional body."
They laughed.
Melinda did not.
She blinked. Then smiled slowly.
"…I do enjoy a man who doesn't lie all the time."
[Melinda Desmond – Intrigue Level +2. Suspects You May Be Hiding Something. Likes It Anyway.]
Eventually, the conversation shifted.
"You know," Melinda said, swirling her tea, "Donovan rarely attends school functions. He's… very busy."
Loid kept his expression neutral. "Understandable. Important men often are."
"But," she continued, voice honey-smooth and ice-cold underneath, "he does make appearances when the event is… appropriately significant."
He leaned in just a fraction.
"Such as?"
She sipped. "The upcoming Founder's Day Gala. Parents of Imperial Scholars only."
A beat.
"If your daughter earns enough merits before then," she said lightly, "you might just find yourself in the same room."
[New Major Mission Unlocked: Operation Starfall – Anya Must Earn First Stella Before Gala.][Timeframe: Two Weeks.]
Loid smiled thinly.
"Then I suppose I'd better make sure my daughter studies hard."
Melinda gave him a long, unreadable look.
"Or cheats better than the rest."
He choked slightly on his tea.
Back home, Loid dropped his coat and sat on the couch like someone returning from a war zone.
Anya poked her head out from under a blanket fort. "You smell like stress and scones."
Yor walked in with a towel on her head and a paring knife in her sleeve.
"How was tea?" she asked brightly.
He looked up.
"I need Anya to become a star student."
Anya blinked. "Me?"
"Top of your class. Earn a Stella. Be flawless."
She slowly slid her drawing of a dinosaur eating math homework behind her back.
[Sub-Mission: Operation Stellar Child – Begin Academic & Heroic Training Regiment.]
"Can I do it with cool outfits?" she asked.
"Yes," he said. "And possibly… peanuts."
Anya gasped. "I'm in."
That night, as he reviewed the data from the tea party, he couldn't shake the image of Melinda Desmond smiling over her teacup like she already knew everything about him.
He was getting closer to Donovan.
But the walls were closing in too.
And this "family"... this mission... it wasn't staying fake anymore.
And that scared him more than poison ever did.