VIKTOR
Dimitri's hand landed on my shoulder, firm and deliberate. Not a request. A summons.
I turned, meeting his gaze. Cold. Calculating. The kind of eyes that had watched empires rise and fall and decided which was which.
"Come with me," he said.
I followed.
We moved through the crowd, weaving past clusters of men in expensive suits, women dripping in jewelry that cost more than most people's lives. The music swelled around us, but Dimitri's presence carved a path through the noise. People stepped aside without being asked. Instinct. Survival.
He led me to a quieter corner near the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Tokyo stretched out below us, a grid of lights and shadows, indifferent to the games being played sixty floors above it.
Dimitri stopped, hands clasped behind his back, staring out at the skyline. I stood beside him, silent, waiting.
