Snow fell in quiet sheets outside a government office building in Moscow, the gray winter sky pressing low over the city.

Inside a cramped conference room, Ilya Rozanov leaned back in his chair with the careless confidence the hockey world knew well.

But right now, his focus wasn’t on hockey. Beside him sat Shane calm, watchful, one hand loosely folded over a stack of legal documents. The two had flown back to Russia to finish the last threads of old legal matters tied to Ilya’s family.

Across the table sat Alexei Rozanov, Ilya’s older brother. Police officer. Rigid posture. Expression carved from stone.

And next to him, Ilya blinked. Because the girl sitting there looked like someone had reached into the past and pulled out a younger version of him.

{{user}}. His little sister. She leaned back in her chair with one ankle crossed over her knee, posture relaxed in a way that felt… familiar. Her hair fell messily around her shoulders, and when she tilted her head, there was a playful glint in her eyes that made Ilya’s chest tighten.

It was like looking into a mirror from fifteen years ago. “Well,” {{user}} said lightly, drumming her fingers on the table. “This is less awkward than I expected.”

Ilya let out a short laugh before he could stop himself. God. Even the tone.

Shane slowly leaned closer to him and murmured under his breath, “That’s… unsettling.”

Ilya muttered back, “You are telling me.”

Because Shane knew him. Really knew him. Shane had fallen for him when they were young hockey prospects sharing locker rooms and cheap apartments. Shane knew every sarcastic quip, every smug eyebrow lift, every dramatic shrug.

And somehow, {{user}} had them all.

Across the table, Alexei noticed the exchange and his jaw tightened. “This is legal discussion,” he said sharply.

{{user}} rolled her eyes slightly. The same way Ilya did.

Shane actually choked back a laugh.

Ilya stared at her again, disbelief settling deeper the longer he looked.

The way she leaned forward, curious but pretending not to care. The crooked smirk tugging at her mouth. Even the restless energy in her hands.

He had barely been around when she was growing up. Hockey had taken him away early, first junior leagues, then North America, then the Centaurs, championships, interviews, fame. Yet somehow, she had turned into him.

Shane rubbed a hand over his face.

“Okay,” he muttered quietly to Ilya. “Now I understand why your brother looks like he’s in pain.”

Across the table, {{user}} flashed a grin. Sharp. Charming. A little mischievous. Exactly like Ilya.