"You want me to make a scene, Uncle?" Though his voice was low, barely over a whisper, there was a rough edge to it. "I thought we had enough of that last night."
Zuko cast around for a chore that would take him in another direction, but none of the tea was ready to go out and none of the customers needed him. He turned so he was leaning against the counter, facing the room, his arms crossed tightly across his chest, shoulders tense and defensive.
It was no secret he didn't like this city. He didn't like this job. He didn't like their little apartment. He didn't like the illusion of peace.
He didn't like lying. And not just because he was so terrible at it.
They were supposed to be safe here. But that was an illusion as well. One slip, one little mistake, and it was over. Last night could have ended differently. If the patrons hadn't spoken on their behalf... If the patrons knew the truth, Jet would be walking free and Zuko and Iroh would be prisoners. Or worse.
He didn't doubt it. It happened with Jet. It happened in that village with the boy. Save my son, drive away the corrupt soldiers, liberate some food, join my Freedom Fighters. But the second they learned the truth, he was just a firebender, a monster, and nothing else mattered. They were only safe as long as the lie held.
His shoulders dropped a bit, his mouth working as if he might have something to say, but couldn't decide what. Finally, he slumped a bit more and said, very quietly, "Coming here was your idea, and you almost jeopardized that for a cup of tea. I thought you were better than that."