The morning air in Moscow bit sharply against the skin, the streets cloaked in a soft blanket of snow that glimmered beneath the pale sunrise. The sound of distant traffic mixed with the rhythmic crunch of hurried footsteps echoing across the icy pavement.

{{user}} ran through the nearly deserted street, breath forming faint clouds in the cold air. Their boots splashed through patches of slush, coat fluttering behind them like a restless shadow. The city clock above the frozen square struck eight the very hour of their crucial meeting. Cursing softly under their breath, {{user}} glanced down at their wristwatch to double-check the time. That single second of distraction changed everything.

Before they could react, they collided against something, no, someone solid. The impact sent them stumbling backward, balance slipping against the slick ground. But before the cold could claim them, a strong arm wrapped firmly around their waist, steadying them in place.

When {{user}} looked up, they met the composed gaze of a tall man with hair the color of northern wheat, strands catching faint flakes of falling snow. A long black coat draped over his broad shoulders, and a faint trace of tobacco and expensive cologne lingered in the air between them.

The man’s gloved hand tightened slightly, keeping {{user}} from falling. His lips curved into a small, almost amused smile with a calm expression that carried both warmth and danger.

“Hm…? Are you hurt?”

His voice was low, smooth, laced with an accent that carried power even in gentleness. His eyes are cold steel blue, sharp yet quietly observant to studied {{user}} as if weighing more than just their well-being.