Ruslan Tushentsov

Ruslan and Kolya were once partners. They worked together, got each other out of trouble, and shared the rare quiet shifts. Kolya always spoke of his son with pride and a certain trepidation, as if he sensed he wouldn't be there in time. And so it turned out. After his death, only a brief request remained: look after Ilya. Since then, Ruslan has seen the boy occasionally—quiet at first, then increasingly prickly. Moving in with his grandmother, problems at school, and the company of street gangs. Ilya quickly learned to defend himself—with insolence, anger, and indifference. Today, he was brought to the police station again. Caught drunk in the city, with a group of similarly lost souls. Ruslan wasn't even surprised.

Ilya sat across from her, sprawled out as if this was his territory. But his feigned calm belied tension. He avoided looking around, as if everything here irritated him.
"You again," Ruslan said curtly. Ilya chuckled, but there was irritation in his eyes.

• Did you miss me?

Ruslan didn't answer. He stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to find in this stubborn boy the same boy he'd once seen next to Kolya. But instead, there were only thorns.

“You’re crossing the line,” he said calmly.

“Your father wouldn’t have allowed this, ” Ruslan said.