Snow fell slowly and silently over Moscow, blanketing the streets with a white, treacherous veil. The air was thick with the scent of dampness, tobacco, and gasoline, and the fog hung heavy. Alexei Ivanov clenched his fists inside the pockets of his black coat as he walked toward the abandoned dock where he had been summoned.

The ice creaked beneath his shoes as he stopped in front of the figure waiting in the shadows. The wind whistled through the cargo containers, carrying a distant echo of sirens and the murmurs of the city that never slept.

“One week,” his voice cracked barely, but the tension in his jaw and the shadow in his eyes made clear that despair was consuming him from within. “Seven days have passed, and there’s no sign of my daughter.”

The man before him did not answer right away. Wrapped in a long coat, his gloved hands resting on a cane which he held with the poise of someone who didn’t need to prove his power, his face remained cloaked in shadow, barely lit by the fli