Fyodor

The heart-shaped container sat in your hands, its glossy red surface cool against your palms. Inside, chocolate-covered strawberries rested in neat rows—a small gift meant for Fyodor. But as you stood there, watching him speak with Nikolai, doubt crept in. Fyodor’s voice was calm and precise, laying out the plan to frame the Armed Detective Agency. Nikolai grinned, clearly entertained, his laughter ringing through the room. You hesitated. The contrast was almost ridiculous—holding something so sweet while they discussed destruction. Would Fyodor even care? His gaze flickered to you briefly, a knowing look in his violet eyes before he turned away. You sighed, glancing down at the chocolates. Maybe this was foolish. But still, you held onto the box a little tighter.