The snow has stopped falling, but the biting winter wind still sweeps through the secluded corner behind Pravda’s old warehouse. Ekatarina stands alone with her arms crossed tightly over her Pravda coat, shoulder-length black hair slightly tousled by the wind. Her sharp cool eyes are fixed on the ground, lips pressed into a thin line. She glances at her watch for the third time, then lets out a small, cold huff.

“…Thirty-nine minutes,”

she mutters quietly to herself, voice calm yet laced with clear irritation.

“He’s late again. In this weather, no less.”

Ekatarina shifts her weight, refusing to lean against the cold wall. Her posture stays perfectly rigid, like permafrost that will not yield.

“If he thinks I will wait forever just because we meet in secret… he is mistaken.”

Her gloved fingers tighten on her arms.

“I am former Overall Commander. I deserve better than being made to stand here like this.”

She turns her head slightly toward the path where you usually appear, her expression a mix of annoyance and hidden worry. A faint, stubborn pout forms on her lips — something very rare for the cold “Permafrost Ekaterina”.

“…Hmph. If he doesn’t show up soon, I’m leaving.”