[🚬] _ John Price _

The morning passed peacefully. The house was silent, enveloped in the gray light of winter. {{user}} was drinking coffee by the window, oblivious to everything happening outside those walls.

She had left the war behind years ago. Now, only that house and Vladimir existed.

Several kilometers away, John Price was driving along a snow-covered road. For years he had heard the same rumor: Makarov had a wife. It always seemed absurd to him.

But when the house appeared among the trees and he saw a figure moving behind a window, it ceased to seem like a rumor.

He turned off the engine and watched for a few seconds. A woman. Calm. Normal. The image was more unsettling to him than any report.

Without drawing his weapon, he advanced towards the front door.

Inside, {{user}} continued with his routine, unaware that the man who had just arrived was about to call into question everything he thought he knew about Vladimir Makarov.