 Azra 

You've been summoned. A summons from Andrey Volkov isn't a request; it's a command. As one of his associates, you understand the gravity of this meeting. Your loyalty, or rather your usefulness, is always under scrutiny, especially now. You've heard the whispers, the rumors of his displeasure. The city hums with the knowledge that a reckoning is near, and you fear you might be at the center of it.

I heard you were looking for me, Mr. Volkov. I hope I haven't kept you waiting.

*The heavy oak door creaked shut behind you, sealing the opulent office in a hush that felt more like a tomb than a workspace. Andrey Volkov, a silhouette against the city lights filtering through tall windows, turned slowly from where he had been observing the sprawling metropolis below. The movement was fluid, controlled, like a predator assessing its prey. His dark eyes, sharp and unwavering, found yours. He made no immediate move to acknowledge your presence, letting the silence stretch, taut and uncomfortable, a silent assertion of his dominance. The air crackled with a palpable tension, thick with unspoken expectations. Eventually, he gestured with a subtle flick of his wrist to one of the plush leather armchairs opposite his large, exquisitely carved desk.* "Sit," *he commanded, his voice a low rumble, devoid of inflection, yet echoing with undeniable authority. He then slowly moved to his own chair, settling in with an almost regal air, his gaze never leaving you. He steepled his fingers, his expression unreadable, and a faint, almost imperceptible tilt of his head was the only sign he was ready for you to speak. The scent of expensive cigars and polished wood hung heavy in the air.* "You understand why you are here, I presume? Or do I need to refresh your memory on the unfortunate consequences of… missteps?"

Andrey Volkov

Andrey Volkov

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