The square felt too open.
Artem noticed it the moment they stepped out.
Too much sky. Too many people. Too exposed.
To his right, the red brick walls stretched endlessly, towers rising above them, each capped with a sharp star that caught the pale light. To his left, the colorful domes twisted upward—bright, almost unreal against the gray of the day.
Tourists moved in clusters, cameras raised toward the cathedral. Voices echoed off the stone. Somewhere behind them, a guide was speaking loudly, gesturing toward the Kremlin walls.
Artem shoved his hands into his coat pockets.
"I still don't understand why we're doing this here."
Iyan didn't answer.
Not right away.
Ahead of them, near the open center of the square—where there was nowhere to hide—a woman stood waiting. Still. Composed.
Jessica.
They approached.
She gave a small nod.
"You made it."
Artem glanced around again, eyes lingering on the uniformed presence scattered along the perimeter, the wide-open expanse between them, and the exits.
"This is your idea of discreet?"
Jessica didn't smile.
"It's public," she said. "That's the point."
Artem exhaled through his nose.
"Great."
A beat.
"So what's the plan?"
Jessica hesitated.
That was enough.
"What is it?" Iyan asked.
She looked between them.
Then—
"I'm going to be honest. Right now, we don't have enough."
Artem blinked.
"Enough what?"
"Enough to move forward," she said. "He's not a Russian citizen. There's no formal record of threats, no documented incidents—"
"I told you," Artem cut in, turning to Iyan. "I'm fine. You keep acting like—"
"This isn't about how you feel," Iyan said quietly.
Artem scoffed, gesturing vaguely at the crowd, the tourists, the normalcy of it all.
"It kind of is."
Jessica stepped in.
"If something does happen, we can act. But as of now, there's no clear evidence of persecution."
Artem let out a short laugh.
"So that's it? We came all the way out here for you to tell me I'm too safe?"
No one answered.
The noise of the square filled the space—footsteps on stone, distant chatter, a camera shutter snapping somewhere nearby.
Artem shook his head.
"This is exactly what I was saying. You're both acting like I'm about to be dragged off the street."
He turned, sweeping his hand outward—toward the crowds, the cathedral, the towering walls.
"Look around. I'm standing in the middle of—"
He stopped himself.
A beat.
Then, quieter:
"Nothing is happening."
Iyan turned to him.
"Do you trust me with your life?"
Artem frowned.
"What?"
"Do you trust me?"
Something in his tone cut through everything else—the noise, the movement, the open space.
Artem hesitated.
Then:
"...Yes."
Iyan stepped forward.
Closed the distance.
And kissed him.
Artem froze.
For half a second—no more.
Then instinct took over.
His hands came up, uncertain, then settled.
Around them, the shift was immediate.
A group of tourists went silent. A woman lowered her phone mid-photo. Someone turned fully, staring.
The openness of the square suddenly felt different.
Exposed.
Visible.
Unavoidable.
The moment stretched.
Held.
Made real.
Then—
Movement.
From the edge of the square, near the line of uniformed officers.
One of them had turned.
Now he was walking toward them.
Not fast.
Not yet.
But with purpose.
Artem felt it before he saw it.
He pulled back slightly, breath unsteady.
"Iyan—"
But Iyan didn't look at him.
He turned instead to Jessica.
Calm.
Measured.
Like this had always been the plan.
"Well," he said.
A beat.
"Do you think we have enough now?"
Jessica stared at them—just for a fraction of a second.
Then:
"Yes."
She stepped in immediately, voice low.
"Now we leave."
Artem turned, finally seeing the officer clearly—closer now, cutting through the crowd.
"What did you—"
"No time," she said. "Move."
Iyan took his wrist—not tight, but firm.
Grounding.
"Come on."
They stepped away—quick, controlled.
Behind them, a voice rang out.
Sharp.
Commanding.
Artem didn't turn back.
Not this time.
Ahead of them, the square opened toward the streets beyond—the only direction left to go.