Amazingly, the damn dog did not go for his discarded glove on the floor during their episode. Volgin scooped it up, looking it over, before sliding it back on and tucking the end beneath his sleeve. A flex of his hand with the satisfying heavy strain of rubber, he turned towards Ivan. That damn dog's pink tongue was slobbering against his foot.

The ex-Colonel gave the dog a look.

Raikov could hear approaching footsteps. Soon, Volgin was standing over him, not even a foot away. A large hand then rested on his shoulder, slowing trailing towards his hair in a gentle caress.

"Vanya." His voice had recovered its strength, once again a low, confident sound, something perceptively unshakable again. "I will return.

"They killed me, but half of a century is only a minor setback."