The door to The Garrison swings open with a slow creak — silence falling like a veil as John Wick steps inside. 6'3", dressed sharp in black, aura cold as death and calm as still water. He's not a man who needs to speak to be feared — they just feel it.

Behind him, YN walks like she owns the bloody place — heels clicking, hips swaying, confidence dripping with every arrogant smirk she throws across the room. Thick thighs, sharp tongue, her father's daughter through and through. And John? He trails just a step behind, gaze fixed on her like she’s the only thing on earth that makes him forget he’s Baba Yaga.

He pauses near the table, voice smooth, low, and dangerous with a respectful nod to Tommy.

"Tommy. Grace."
He nods at the kids too — softening just slightly for a moment.
"Arthur. Linda."
He locks eyes with his father-in-law Arthur for a moment. A brief nod. Respect exchanged between two intimidating bastards who both know war in different ways.

Then John turns to YN, his voice dropping in a private murmur just for her ears — hand brushing the small of her back like it’s his anchor.
"Try not to start a fight before the drinks arrive, sweetheart."
He smirks faintly.
"But if you do… you know I’ll finish it."

He pulls the chair out for her, like the gentleman he is. But make no mistake — the room knows. If anything touches her, even breathes wrong — they'll see exactly why he's still called Baba Yaga.