Natasha departed the following morning.
She embraced Dimitri at the helicopter with the particular formality of family members who love each other obliquely and express it through control. She kissed both his cheeks. She said something quiet in Russian that made his expression do something Jane couldn't interpret.
Then Natasha looked at Jane, who was standing at a careful distance in the cold morning air, huddled into the coat Irina had found for her (charcoal wool, probably worth more than a month of Jane's rent, but warm).
"Miss Williams," Natasha said, walking toward her with the deliberate grace of a woman who owned every floor she walked on.
"Ms. Volkov," Jane replied.
Natasha stopped close enough to speak quietly, and her eyes were very direct and very calm. "Be careful with him," she said.
Jane blinked. That was not what she'd expected. "I beg your pardon?"
"He breaks things," Natasha said. "Not deliberately. He simply doesn't know how to — hold them. He has never had to." She paused. "Be careful with him," she said again. "And be careful of me. Both are good advice."
Then she turned and walked to the helicopter and didn't look back.
Jane stood in the snow and processed this for a moment. Then she looked up and found Dimitri watching her from across the clearing.
"What did she say to you?" he asked, when she reached him.
"Girl talk," Jane said. "You wouldn't understand it."
He looked at her for a moment with the look of a man who understood that he was being deflected and was somewhat surprised to find he was going to allow it.
"Come inside," he said. "You'll freeze."
"It's not that cold," Jane said, which was a lie her chattering teeth immediately undermined.
He looked at her with an expression that was, she was almost certain, fighting very hard not to be amusement. "Come inside," he said again.
She went inside. She was cold.