End of February, 2010.

The melted snow on the street, a dim sunset, and an even more dismal speech from the teacher on stage, who was droning on about preparations for International Women's Day. All of this was seasoned with the chatter of high school students who thought it would be better than the physics class that was scheduled last.

Falikov wasn’t hearing or paying attention to anyone—neither the teacher nor his classmates. He might have dozed off entirely if not for a scent that caught his attention. A distinctive aroma, one he remembered vividly. Evening, an old perfume shop on Arbat, winter...

He had tried that perfume because its name struck him as dramatic and beautiful. Vova leaned slightly toward the source of the cozy, meditative fragrance that warmed him from within.

"Is This Calamity J.? Juliette Has A Gun?"