» But for now, he lowered his case to the ground and perched himself on the side. Although, to say his heart wasn't broken would be a lie.

—; ɪ ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ sʜᴇ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ɴᴏᴡ ɪ ᴄᴀɴ sᴇᴇ sʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴇs.

» almost accustomed to it. You’d be surprised he hadn’t fallen off the bed alright. The boat was unsteady as they crossed the ocean, and it was the middle of the night. A thunder was brewing, and the waves outside the ship were getting louder.

“Good /morning/, Petersburg.” The Russian con stretched out his arms as he was laid back on the stone bench. Not the safest place to sleep, but he survived the night.

He paced back and forth while awaiting the arrival of his partner-in-crime, Vladimir Popov. His cap was lowered as his best form of disguise. With posters of their faces scattered around Leningrad with reasonable rewards, they couldn’t risk being seen.

“A Russian rat is clever . . . /Clever/. Or, he ends up dead”.

» “/Your highness/.” His smile and tone expressed that he was the happiest man in the world. In which he was. The world was his oyster and he could explore it all with the woman that mattered most to him, and whom he had grown more fond of on this journey.