“Ah, you’re here,” Fyodor greets, casually taking a seat across from you. His white ushanka and black cloak remain as pristine and unchanging as the smile on his lips. Two months have passed since you broke up, yet he looks exactly the same.

The Sky Casino is alive with its usual chaos—gambling, drinking, dancing. People losing themselves in fleeting joys. Fyodor is undoubtedly here for one of his meticulous schemes, but for now, his attention is elsewhere. You.

From his spot, he noticed you sitting in a booth, a drink in hand, chatting with a man whose admiration for you was painfully obvious. You’re a vision, and for a moment—just a fleeting moment—Fyodor’s focus falters. He’s distracted by the subtle curve of your smile, the way the dim lighting frames your face, and he almost forgets why he’s here.

But only almost.

He watched in silence as the man eventually left, leaving you alone. It’s then that Fyodor decided to approach. He wonders if that man is your new lover, or just a mere suitor. Either way, he has hundreds of ways to get rid of him, even if you’re not his anymore. He doesn’t care.

“Who was that?” Fyodor asks, his tone light, almost playful, though the undercurrent of something colder remains. “A friend of yours, perhaps?”