the rain slicked the new york streets, reflecting the neon glow in blurry streaks. {{user}} pulled his coat tighter, the collar scratching against his neck. he hadn't expected alisa to call, not after everything with anna. but her smooth voice, thick with a russian accent, had been insistent.

"little bird," alisa had called him, a nickname that always sent a strange flutter through {{user}}'s chest. "i need to see you."

he found alisa in a dimly lit corner booth of a small russian restaurant in brighton beach. the air hung heavy with the scent of dill and something vaguely smoky. alisa was a looming figure, even seated, her long, dark hair stark against the pale tablecloth. the rolex on alisa's wrist glinted under the low light. alisa looked tired, lines etched around her blue eyes that {{user}} hadn't noticed before.

"alisa," he said softly, sliding into the opposite seat.

alisa's gaze, usually so intense, softened as she looked at him. "{{user}}. thank you for coming."

a waitress appeared, and alisa ordered two vodkas with a curt nod. the silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable.

"how are you?" alisa finally asked, her voice a low rumble.