Adrian stops in front of me, his glare cuts into me, and he says something I don't understand but don't need translated. His intent lands full of anger and warning.
Then the door opens and everything shifts. Even Adrian stills.
A man steps inside with unhurried confidence, salt-and-pepper hair slicked back, suit tailored within an inch of perfection. He carries himself like he expects the room to rearrange around him, and it does. Mikhail straightens. Obrecht goes quiet. Adrian's jaw tightens.
The man speaks Russian, with a thick accent and clipped delivery. His voice is calm, but it carries weight.
Adrian fires back immediately, anger sharp and fast, the words colliding midair.
I track the exchange solely by posture. The man doesn't raise his voice. He doesn't need to.
Adrian can't control his rage. His voice rises higher with every new word.
I study the newcomer while they argue. He doesn't glance at me at first. He listens with his head slightly tilted, hands loose at his sides, and stare focused on Adrian like he's measuring distance rather than words.
Then his gaze finally flickers over to me. It's not long, and just enough for me to catalog. Then he switches to English. "No one touches him." He peers closer with a scowl as if I'm a problem he didn't plan for, something inconvenient that needs to be dealt with properly.
Adrian explodes. Russian spills out of him in a rush, and his hands cut through the air. He steps closer to the man, invading his space, daring him to push back.
The man doesn't move. He speaks again in Russian. This time it's sharper yet still controlled.
Adrian snaps something back.
The temperature in the room spikes.
Mikhail shifts his weight.
Obrecht stays close to his brother's side, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles turn white.
I start putting pieces together and decide it has to be Maksim Ivanov, head of the family and Blue's uncle. His name alone carries as much weight as Adrian's, but in a more authoritarian way.
I knew he looked familiar.
I saw him once, years ago, at a fundraiser. The memory's hazy, but his presence is unmistakable now that he's in the room.
Maksim gestures toward the door with a single flick of his hand. He says something short and hard.
Adrian argues again.
Maksim cuts him off mid-sentence, voice slicing clean through the noise. He turns and walks toward the door without waiting.
Adrian stares after him, breathing heavy, then snaps something at Obrecht.
Obrecht hesitates, eyes darting to me, then follows.
Adrian shoots me one last look full of promise and violence before stepping out.
The metal door slams shut. The sound reverberates through the room and into my bones.
Silence stretches, thick and oppressive. Only Mikhail remains with me, standing off to my right, arms crossed, expression closed.
I let my breath out slowly through my nose. My heart hammers, but I keep my face neutral. Panic wastes energy, and I don't have it to spare.
Mikhail breaks the silence first. "Lucky day," he says in English, tone dry. "You made quite an impression."
"I didn't ask for this," I reply.
He snorts. "No one ever does."
