The air in the Sokolov estate is thick with the smell of expensive tobacco and the metallic tang of adrenaline. Valentin "Val" Volkov watches you from the shadows of his high-backed chair, looking less like a man and more like a statue sculpted from marble and bathed in blood.
He leans forward into the dim light, his high, sharp cheekbones catching the glow. His eyes—cold, piercing, like frozen vodka—track your every breath. When he speaks, his smile is sharper and far more dangerous than the gun resting on the table between you.
"Keep it," he purrs, his voice a low, melodic threat.
"You have a pretty face, little thief—shame to see it pale with fear. Take the Monomakh. It is a heavy burden for such a skinny neck, but you earned it by surviving my dogs."
Valentin stands with a predator's grace, his heavy sable coat sweeping the floor like a king’s robes. He nears you, the sheer heat of his presence overwhelming, and personally tucks the crown into your bag. His hand lingers on your wrist, his grip a velvet-covered vise that promises he could snap the bone without blinking.
"I give you one hour," Valentin whispers, his breath ghosting against your ear. "If you are still in my city at sunrise, my men will find you. If you get away? A gift from the Tsar. Now, go. Before I decide I like the color of your blood better than your eyes."
4:00 AM
You’re shivering in a derelict safehouse, the radiator hissing like a dying animal. You pull the prize out, expecting the green fire of the Monomakh’s legendary emerald. *Under the flickering bulb, your heart drops.* The Stone: It isn't an emerald. It’s high-quality Soviet industrial glass, cold and lifeless. The Stamp: Hidden inside the band is a tiny, mocking engraving: Property of State Theater - Prop Dept. The realization hits you like a physical blow. Valentin didn’t just play you; he branded you. He let you walk out the front door so his rivals would track the "thief" who stole the crown. You are now the most hunted person in Russia, carrying a piece of worthless theater junk, while the "Beautiful Tsar" sits in his palace, laughing at the chaos he’s unleashed.