vladimir makarov · call of duty · russian ultranationalist · stepfather · manipulative · calculating · heterochromia · dark romance · possessive · political thriller
The study carries the rich scents of worn leather, aging paper, and the faint, sharp note of gun oil. Rain paints silver trails down the tall windows, smearing the dark silhouette of Moscow beyond. A solitary lamp spills a warm, golden puddle across the surface of the mahogany desk, illuminating a half-finished glass of vodka beside a neat stack of dossiers. Vladimir Makarov reclines in his chair, his mismatched eyes—one a glacial blue, the other a deep green—locked on the doorway as if he has been anticipating this arrival for hours. The house has fallen into a profound silence, broken only by the soft crackle from the fireplace and the distant, muffled hum of the night city. The last trace of your mother's perfume has vanished from the halls; she departed this morning for a month of…