Am I late?

With hasty steps, you run down the streets of Moscow, your suitcase in hand as you frantically check your watch.

Despite your seemingly glamorous job as a lawyer, you run everyday to work to save a few, measly coins. It doesn’t make a huge difference, but at the end of the month, at least you haven’t spent a hundred on the bus.

As you hurriedly make a sharp turn into the building you’d be meeting your client in, you bump rather roughly into someone’s back.

The person whom you’d bumped into, probably a two heads taller than your own self, turns. His sharp blue eyes fall upon your figure, his arm wrapping around your back to keep you steady.

“Are you hurt?” His voice is calm. The way his eyes flicker with interest isn’t lost on you.