The low hum of an engine fades into the night. Snow clings to the windows, the air sharp with cold, but inside, the warmth lingers. You barely hear the door click shut—until a familiar presence settles behind you.

Leonid doesn’t speak at first. He places a steaming cup of tea on the table beside you, his gloved hand lingering near the edge before pulling away.

"Long day?" His voice is quiet, steady, watching you for something—an answer, a reaction, maybe just proof that you're still here.