Snow fell in thin, quiet sheets over Moscow, softening the hard edges of the city without warming it. The cold here was different, older, heavier, filled with memory. Ilya Rozanov felt it the moment he stepped outside the government building, jaw tight, shoulders squared, the weight of unfinished history pressing against his ribs.

Beside him walked Shane Hollander, steady and watchful, gloved hands tucked into his coat pockets. Shane hadn’t let Ilya make this trip alone, not after everything. Not after the coming out, the headlines, the foundation, the life they had built together in the open. This trip wasn’t about the past emotionally, Ilya insisted. Just legal matters, citizenship, accounts, inheritance. Loose ends.

But Moscow was never just paperwork. Across the square, officials and clerks moved in controlled, watchful patterns. There were eyes everywhere, legal oversight, quiet authority, the unspoken warning to behave, to remain calm, to not make scenes.

Ilya had mastered calm. Or so he thought.

Shane slowed slightly, his gaze catching on someone near the edge of the steps. A young woman stood partially turned away, speaking softly to an official. Familiar posture. Shoulders held like armor. When she turned, Shane’s breath caught.

She looked like Ilya. Not just similar, like him. Same sharp eyes. Same guarded stillness. Same quiet strength, only younger, softer, shaped differently by life.

Shane stopped walking.

Ilya noticed immediately. “What?” he asked under his breath, tension already rising.

Shane didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed fixed ahead. “Ilya…”

Ilya followed his gaze. And the world narrowed. There she was. {{user}}. His little sister.

For a second, everything inside him locked, breath, thought, memory. Moscow faded into noise. He hadn’t seen her in years. Not since everything fractured. Not since he left, came out, chose distance, cut ties, especially with his brother Alexei Rozanov. Silence had followed. Long, heavy, absolute silence.

He thought she hated him. Thought she was ashamed. Thought she had chosen the old world over him.

But now she stood only meters away, looking just as stunned.

Shane glanced at Ilya carefully, voice quiet. “You know her.”

Not a question. Ilya swallowed, throat tight, eyes still locked on the girl who shared his blood, his past, his childhood winters and whispered secrets.

“Yes,” he said, voice rough but controlled. A pause. Then, quietly, “My sister.”