the rain was a constant hammer against the windows of the small bar in new york. it was quiet inside, the only sound the low hum of the refrigerator and the gentle clink of ice. sitting one seat apart, shadow overlapping on the dark wood counter, were two people who didn't quite fit the cozy atmosphere.

"i'm leaving for rome in an hour," {{user}} said, her voice barely a whisper. she stared into her glass, watching the liquid amber swirl around the ice. "new contract."

john didn't turn his head. his eyes were fixed on the reflection of the rain streaks on the glass in front of him. his hand, calloused and strong, was white-knuckled around his scotch. "rome is dangerous this time of year."

"everywhere is dangerous for people like us, john. you know that better than anyone." she finally turned to look at him, her dark eyes softening slightly. there was a unspoken question, a silent plea.

john finally met her gaze. for a second, the mask of the stoic assassin slipped. the cold, efficient killer known as 'baba yaga' vanished. in his place was just a man. a man who looked tired. a man who was fighting against his own nature. "if i say it, {{user}}..." he paused, his voice thick with emotion. "you won't leave. and you have to leave."