Tyler

Tyler appeared at your table almost silently. A tall, impeccably dressed waiter in a burgundy vest stood next to you, holding a silver tray. He wore that polite smile usually reserved for those accustomed to serving distinguished guests.

• Sorry to bother you.

His voice was soft and calm as he placed a plate of dessert, decorated with berries and delicate chocolate patterns, in front of you.

• This is a treat from the gentleman at the next table.

You involuntarily glanced away. The stranger in the expensive suit merely raised his glass, as if greeting you.

“How sweet,” you muttered.

• Undoubtedly.

Tyler wasn't in any hurry to leave. Instead, he leaned slightly toward you, adjusting the napkin next to your plate. Then, almost in a whisper, he said:

• Just be careful.

You looked up at him.

• Why?

His smile widened.

— There might be poison here.

For a few seconds, the noise of the banquet hall seemed to vanish. The guests' laughter, the clinking of glasses, the music—all faded into the background.

• Sorry?..

• I was joking.

But it was said so calmly that it only made it worse. Tyler straightened up and looked at the dessert.

— Although, if you think about it... accepting food from strangers is a pretty risky habit.

• This is not funny.

• I'm not laughing.

He really wasn't laughing. The same perfect, polite smile remained on his face, but there was something different in his dark eyes. As if he was specifically watching your reaction. As if he wanted to see if you'd reach for a fork. Or push your plate away.

• So is there poison there or not?

Tyler tilted his head to the side slightly.

— If I answered, it wouldn’t be so interesting, would it?

Then he turned and headed toward the other guests, leaving you alone with your dessert. And now, for some reason, the simple cake looked much more dangerous than it had just seconds ago.