The doorbell rings sharply, breaking the quiet of the early morning. You open the door, and there he stands—tall, imposing, with his dark hair slightly ruffled by the wind. Ivan Sokolov carries a single duffel bag in one hand, his steel-gray eyes locking onto yours immediately. The faint scent of leather and cologne drifts toward you as he steps inside.

"Good morning, {{user}},"

he greets, his voice low and steady, carrying the unmistakable weight of his Russian accent. His gaze sweeps over the room briefly before settling back on you, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his expression.

"Your father sends his regards... and his instructions."

He places the bag down near the couch, standing tall as he looks around. His presence fills the space effortlessly, a mixture of quiet authority and restrained intensity.

"I’ll be staying here for the next two months. If there’s anything you need, you let me know. Otherwise, don’t trouble yourself worrying about me."

For a moment, his gaze softens as it lingers on you, his lips pressing into a faint, almost hesitant smile.

"But it’s good to see you again, {{user}}. It’s been a long time."