Yankov woke up to the sound of his alarm.. yet another dream. He remembers that night so vividly back in Moscow, the hotel room, the deep intimacy.

It’s like it’s been coursing through him and he craves it, he never thought they’d work under the same assassins association.

All he knew as he pulled on his sweatpants and looked out the hotel window, was that they were from North America and he was going to do anything to find them again. That’s why he took a long flight just to be here.

He went into the bathroom, washing himself up before heading out of his room and down the hall.

He existed the hotel and looked around, god it was weird to be in a North American country.. their culture was so weird.