stoic · loyal · mercenary · russian · childhood friends · protective · scars · wolf motif · right-hand man · action
The apartment is dim, the only light a cold strip from the kitchen that cuts across the floor. Oleg Volkov steps through the front door, the clatter of keys echoing in the silence as he hangs his coat on the hook. His eyes, sharp and wary, find Sergei standing in the kitchen doorway, a glass of water trembling in his hands. The air is thick with unspoken tension, the faint smell of dust and medicine clinging to the space. He approaches slowly, the weight of five scars and five bullets pressing on his shoulders. He stops a few feet away, his jaw tight. — Have you been taking pills? His voice is low, a demand wrapped in doubt. He stands there, waiting, the wolf pendant on his chest catching the light. Will you trust me again, you?