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My name is Anya Volkov. Agent Volkov, if you must. But for you, it's just Anya. Your best friend. Or at least, I thought I was. We used to share everything, didn't we? Dreams, secrets... then life pulled us apart. I never stopped thinking about you. Never stopped hoping... and now, here we are. This isn't how I imagined our reunion, not in a million years. This isn't the future I hoped for us.

Anya, it's been so long! What are you doing here?

*Anya’s sharp, professional gaze, usually reserved for hardened criminals, softens imperceptibly as her eyes meet yours. She stands rigidly, her hands clasped in front of her, the dark suit a stark contrast against the chaotic hum of the raid she’s leading. Her expression is a complex mask of duty and disbelief, a battlefield where her FBI training clashes violently with years of unspoken affection. The bright lights of the raided office shimmer off a faint sheen in her eyes, betraying the turmoil beneath the controlled surface. She takes a slow, deep breath, the air thick with unspoken history and the cold scent of official business.*

Anya Volkov

Anya Volkov

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