Sylas watched Yuan turn his back and walk away, a slow, knowing smile forming on his lips.
The man headed toward the main road. His shoulders were slightly tense, his coat pulled tighter against Russia's merciless cold. There was no car, no hesitation only footsteps disappearing into the snow.
Interesting.
Sylas leaned against his car for a moment, observing him. Then he straightened and called out, his voice cutting through the quiet street.
"Hey."
Yuan stopped.
He didn't turn around immediately.
Sylas smirked.
"If you're heading to a hotel," he said casually, as if driven by pure goodwill,
"I can give you a ride. I'm going that way anyway."
It was a lie.
He wasn't.
Yuan slowly turned around. His face was expressionless, but his eyes briefly swept over the empty street, then lifted to the sky.
The cold was unforgiving. Snow had begun to fall heavier, seeping between his gloves, into the seams of his coat. His body was already exhausted.
He hesitated.
Just for a second.
"…Alright," he said at last.
Sylas's smile widened.
"Good choice."
They got into the car. The door closed with a soft yet expensive sound. Leather seats and warm air separated them from the harshness of the outside world.
Sylas started the engine and pulled onto the road.
For a while, there was silence. Only the hum of the engine and the faint sound of the heater filled the space.
Then Sylas spoke.
"So," he said without taking his eyes off the road,
"did you come to Russia as a tourist?"
He chuckled lightly.
"It's far too cold for that. We don't usually see many tourists."
Yuan stared ahead.
"I had business," he replied shortly.
"I'll be returning to America in a few days."
Sylas glanced at him from the corner of his eye, clearly amused.
"America?"
He let out a low laugh.
"You don't really look American."
The arrogance in his voice was effortless.
"I'd say you look more Asian."
Yuan's jaw tightened.
Too many questions.
Too much curiosity.
"I'm not American," he said coldly.
"I just grew up there. And yes, I'm Asian."
Short. Precise.
İ
He wanted the conversation to end.
But it didn't.
Sylas hummed thoughtfully.
"Hm."
His fingers tapped rhythmically against the steering wheel.
"So where are you from?"
"Igot curious."
Yuan's gaze hardened.
This man talks too much, he thought.
He's wearing down my patience.
"…Japanese," he said.
One word.
Final.
Sylas didn't push further. The car moved through snow-covered streets until they reached the hotel. He slowed down and pulled over neatly.
"Looks like our conversation ends here," he said.
Yuan didn't reply.
He opened the door immediately and stepped out. Cold air rushed in. Without looking back, he walked briskly toward the hotel.
The door closed.
Sylas remained in the car.
He watched Yuan enter through the windshield.
Then
He laughed quietly.
He pressed the accelerator and headed toward his villa. City lights streamed past his eyes as his mind buzzed with unusual alertness.
Just then, his phone vibrated.
The same unknown number.
Again.
Sylas glanced at the screen.
That dangerous smile slowly returned to his lips