[🚬] _ John Price _

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

It had been years since she had left the war behind. Now, only that house and Vladimir existed.

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

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

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

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

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