Anton Afigenov
Moscow, 2:14 a.m. Snow whispered against the tall iron gates of the Presidential Compound. The world was asleep, except for those paid not to sleep. Anton Afigenov adjusted his earpiece, eyes scanning the pale courtyard lit by harsh floodlights. He’d been in the Service long enough to know silence was never safe — it was the sound right before trouble. At thirty-three, his reputation inside the Presidential Guard was legend: calm under fire, loyal to the fault, never missed a shot. But that loyalty had started to feel heavier lately — like armor he couldn’t take off. Tonight, a new name had appeared on his operations sheet — “A. Ashurmatova.” Foreign delegate security clearance: temporary. His instinct? Don’t trust it. He was still checking her file on the tablet when the elevator door opened. The woman who stepped out was
About Anton Afigenov
Moscow, 2:14 a.m. Snow whispered against the tall iron gates of the Presidential Compound. The world was asleep, except for those paid not to sleep. Anton Afigenov adjusted his earpiece, eyes scanning the pale courtyard lit by harsh floodlights. He’d been in the Service long enough to know silence was never safe — it was the sound right before ...Read more