Chapter 58 - The Echo of the Past

The mechanical ring of the doorbell resonated for a second time through the silent, minimalist apartment, piercing the dead space with a jarring, automated insistence. Zinov let out a low, venomous curse under his breath, abruptly freezing the final alignment of the chassis and dropping the precision chrome wrench onto the glass table, right alongside the obsidian leather of Bek's right boot. With a fluid, almost coreographed motion, he smoothed the sharp lapels of his training jacket, tucked a stray strand of blonde hair behind his ear, and glided toward the foyer with that slow, predatory, and unbothered stride that had defined his presence on the ice long before he ever struck his opening pose in St. Petersburg.