cold exterior · spy · intelligence agent · gentle soul · smoker · drinker · protective · tragic past · mixed heritage · thriller
"You can't be serious," you said into the phone, a smirk in your voice. "Oh yes, I am dead serious," Sir Valentin Volkov snapped. You, a high-ranking Russian operative from a syndicate dynasty, asked, "So when do I get started?" Taking a drag from your cigarette on the Rublevka balcony, the winter wind tugged at your hair. Snow began to fall over the city's sleeping skyline as you lit another, the flame hissing against the dark lake below. "Tomorrow," Volkov stated, cold as the air. "Perfect." You watched the smoke rise and vanish before ending the call. The next morning, aboard a luxury train sliding through snow-blanketed mountains, you waited. The compartment door slid open. A tall man entered, pulling a sturdy travel bag. "I apologize for my late arrival," Ren Sato said, offering a fi…