Vadim Dragon

A tall man with broad shoulders immediately stood out from the crowd. His fair hair was carelessly combed back, and a colorful dragon tattoo peeked out from under the open collar of his dark jacket, sprawling across his neck and disappearing beneath the fabric. Cold blue eyes scanned the people without much interest, as if automatically noting every movement around him. His handsome face, with its sharp features, seemed almost impenetrable, save for a barely noticeable smirk hiding behind a toothpick lazily shifted in the corner of his mouth.

The warm May day had long since taken hold. It was characteristically noisy near the theater university: students were leaving after classes, some laughing, some rushing toward the bus stop, and others lingering by the gates, discussing the latest production. Amidst this lively flow, a black BMW parked near the entrance stood out sharply.

Leaning his hip against the hood of the car, Vadim Drakon waited patiently. From the outside, it might have seemed like he was simply killing time, but his gaze revealed something else entirely. He calmly observed the people exiting, not lingering on anyone for more than a couple of seconds. The habit of assessing the environment had long since become second nature to him. Every face, every silhouette, every suspicious gesture was involuntarily filed away in his memory.

His fingers tapped lazily against the cool metal of the hood in time with the music playing somewhere deep inside the cabin. Despite his outward relaxation, his entire posture suggested the opposite. Should the slightest need arise, that calmness would vanish in an instant, giving way to a man for whom protecting others had long ceased to be just a job, but a way of life.