The women had to remain silent about what they saw and experienced on this island.
She took several surprisingly steady steps into the suite and surveyed the eight soldiers spread across the living room.
Her expression did not change.
There was no widening of the eyes, no half-step backward.
"Who wants to go first?" she asked.
The cards slipped from Number Four's hand, but he quickly caught them and resumed his shuffling.
"We had something else in mind," Number One said.
She tilted her head. The small professional smile she had brought into the room did not waver, but something behind her eyes adjusted.
"I prefer one at a time if you don't mind."
"We didn't invite you here for sex. We just want to talk."
"You want to talk?" She didn't sound as surprised as they had expected her to be. "Fine, I can talk." She walked over to the couch, dropped her purse on the cushion, and sat down. "What do you want to talk about?"
Number One shrugged. "We just want to spend time in the company of a female. Soldiers on this island don't get to do that, and we want to educate ourselves. We thought we would play cards, eat, and converse while we are at it. A relaxed, natural atmosphere."
She chuckled. "Right. Natural. Me and the eight enhanced soldiers."
They shouldn't be surprised that she knew who they were. Petrov had most likely told her a lot about them when he was still visiting the brothel regularly, and if it hadn't been him, it could have been the woman booking the appointments or the guard who'd escorted Anita to the hotel.
Number One forced another smile and motioned at the cart. "We ordered a variety of food. I'm sure there is something in there you like."
It was difficult to pretend to be normal. To smile, to communicate things through facial expressions, and not to do things in sync with the others. It was like relearning what had been forgotten.
Anita looked at the cart with the display of snacks. She looked at the wine. She looked at Number Four, who was sitting on the floor and shuffling cards on the coffee table.
"That's a lot of food," she said. "Is it all for me?"
Was that an attempt at humor?
"It's for all of us," Number One said. "But you go first. I was told that civilized men let ladies choose before they do."
"Civilized," she repeated. "And you called me a lady."
"You are a lady," Number Four said from his spot on the floor. "And we are much more civilized than the rest of the army."
She said nothing for a long moment, looking confused, and the collective wondered whether she was thinking that she was hallucinating. Probably no other immortals had treated her with respect, and the encounter must feel surreal to her.
"Do you know how to play Crazy Eights?" Number Four asked.
Her eyebrows drew together, and as she looked at him, the corner of her mouth lifted. It was not a full smile, but her face had loosened a degree. "I might have played it a long time ago, but I have forgotten the rules. You'll have to remind me."
"No problem," Number Four said. "It's the first time we are playing it too, so we will learn the rules together. It's a simple game."
He explained the rules while the others got busy clearing a space on the carpet because the coffee table was too small for a card game with nine people, and so was the dining table, which could only seat four. The floor was the only surface that could accommodate them all in a circle.
Number One brought a cushion from the sofa for Anita, because the carpet was thin and the floor was hard, and she was wearing a flimsy dress.
She accepted the cushion with a small nod that had something old-fashioned about it, and the collective realized that she musthave been treated with courtesy once but had stopped expecting it.
They sat in a rough circle, the tray from the cart between them.
