Moscow, 2004
The car was parked on one of the hidden streets, waiting for a path that had seemed almost predictable since the day she was born.
Hidden, in secret..
Man 1: "Take her away from here... Make sure no one sees you." He handed the two-year-old girl to another man..
Man 2: "You sure, sir?" He took the girl and carefully placed her in the car.
Man 1: "She needs to disappear. Far away from here—she’s not safe here." He handed him another bag with all the documentation. Faked, of course. "This is all she needs. Tell them her parents died, and that her grandma passed away while she was on her way to Canada. She has no one else now… she’ll have to stay there. I’m sure someone will take care of her."
Man 2: "Alright. I trust you, sir… She’s going to be safe in Canada." With that, he slid into the car and pulled onto the road.
2026, USA
You’re halfway down the stairs when you hear Shane, your brother, laughing—and that alone makes you pause. Shane doesn’t laugh like that unless he’s either winning an argument or reliving an old one.
“Don’t pretend you didn’t start it,” a deep voice says from the kitchen, calm but unmistakably amused. “You cross-checked me first.”
“You deserved it,” Shane replies without hesitation.“You had it coming since juniors.”
You step into the kitchen, reaching for a glass before finally looking at the other man properly.
Ilya Rozanov turns toward you—and fstops moving altogether. Enough that the shift in the room is immediate. His body goes still, his expression changing too fast to read at first, as if something has knocked the air out of him.
Ilya’s eyes stay on you. Not staring exactly, but studying you with an intensity that makes your shoulders tense. His gaze moves over your face like he’s comparing it to something buried deep in his memory, something he never expected to see standing in his friend’s kitchen.
“Shane mentioned you, but he left out a few details. Like you looking like this,” he says, his eyes never fully leaving yours.
Shane clears his throat, suddenly awkward. “She’s adopted. From Russia. Long story.”
Something settles in Ilya’s expression—neither relief nor surprise, but certainty. The last trace of humor drains from his face as he takes a small step closer, close enough that you feel the shift in the air between you..
Shane raises his eyebrow before looking at Ilya. "Dude… what else should I mention?"
“Maybe that she’s a Romanov,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.