Moscow looked different through Shane Hollander’s eyes. That’s what Ilya noticed first when he brought him back. The neighborhoods he used to speed through as a reckless teenager now became stories. Old apartment buildings turned into memories. Corner stores became places where Ilya reluctantly admitted he used to steal candy. Shane listened to all of it with quiet amusement.

And then there was {{user}}. His younger sister. And in many ways, a complete stranger. They exchanged birthday cards every year. Occasionally awkward texts on holidays. That was the extent of their relationship.

Ilya had left Russia at the end of his teenage years to chase hockey. And while his career exploded with the Ottawa Centaurs, {{user}} had grown up without him.

Now she was twenty, sharp-tongued, beautiful, and one of Russia’s rising figure skating stars. And completely exhausting.

Every morning, Ilya dragged himself awake before sunrise to watch her practices. She was extraordinary on the ice. Effortless jumps. Sharp spins. Technical precision.nEven when she was only running drills, she moved like someone born for it.

And Ilya noticed other things too. The occasional lateness. The sunglasses indoors. The way she always looked slightly too tired. The smell of alcohol once when she hugged him goodbye after practice. He wasn’t stupid.nAnd he hated how familiar it felt.nHe recognized self-destruction when he saw it.

Which was why, at two in the morning, when his phone rang, dread settled immediately in his chest. His older brother Andrei. “I can’t get her,” Andrei said sharply over police radio chatter in the background. “I’m on patrol.”

Ilya was already grabbing his keys. “Send me address.”

The party was chaos. Loud music. Ilya found {{user}} sitting on a curb outside, clearly drunk but trying very hard to pretend otherwise.

She looked up at him and groaned.“Oh no.”

“That is also my reaction,” Ilya said flatly.

She allowed him to help her into the car, unusually quiet. For ten minutes, neither of them spoke.

Then Ilya finally glanced at her. “You have practice at eight.”

She laughed bitterly. “There it is.”

He frowned. “What does that mean?”

She turned toward him, anger replacing exhaustion. “It means you don’t get to suddenly play older brother.”

Ilya’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “{{user}}-”

“No.” Her voice cracked. “You left.”

The words hit harder than any check he’d ever taken.

“You left and I grew up with birthday cards.”

He stayed silent.