Afternoon sunlight streamed lazily through the café's broad glass windows, scattering bright patches across the wood-grain tabletop and coating the long-cold coffee in Sasha's hand with a false golden warmth.
He liked this sun-baked sense of ease. It let him temporarily forget the wind and snow of the Arctic Circle, and the mingled stench of rust and blood in the ship's cabin.
A figure blocked part of the light. Sasha looked up and saw a middle-aged man in a dark gray wool coat, dressed with meticulous precision, standing before the table. He gently placed a paper document with slightly curled edges beside Sasha's coffee cup.
Without waiting for an invitation, the man seated himself in the chair opposite him, moving as naturally as if he had returned to his own office.
"Alexander Rybalko."
The man's voice was not loud, and his words were clearly articulated, yet they were like a cold stone dropped into the placid lake of Sasha's mind, instantly stirring ripples of vigilance.
Alexander Rybalko—this was his True Name, buried deep within his file, long covered over by the codename-like name "Sasha."
Even now, after the Yamal mission had ended but its aftermath had yet to settle, he still used the identity of "Sasha." Few people knew that name.
Sasha's gaze swept quickly over the document. It was the final mission report he had personally written and submitted.
His body tensed almost imperceptibly. Then he adjusted his posture, straightening his spine slightly. The casualness that belonged to "Sasha" faded from his face, replaced by the caution that belonged to "Rybalko."
"How should I address you?" Sasha asked in a low voice.
"Lieutenant Colonel Tarasov will do," the man replied expressionlessly. "The department you belong to falls under part of my jurisdiction."
As he spoke, his fingers seemed to