Ryker Petrović

[Ryker]

Late 2044,

Kiev

From his desk, Ryker studied the scene outside.  Dusk slung colors across the horizon, what could be seen of it between fingers of shadowy buildings. Curtains were still open in the apartment building nearest. Within, the shapes of people shifting through their evening routines passed. Clearing dinner. Gathering trash. Preparing for bed.

Behind him, his own family was doing the same.  Anastasia darted down the corridor without interrupting. He already explained his task for the night, she agreed to leave him to it. They already said their good nights, and moments later, the hallway light winked away. 

He was settled comfortably, robe draped open revealing skin blushed red with the heat of a recent shower while the secure connection filtered the myriad safety checks. The screen flickered from blue to orange then, his sign-in waiting empty.

He put his face to the scanner, waited, and opened the first report.  Hours later, he crawled into bed and nuzzled the neck of his wife. She murmured something, then shifted as his hands tangled in the slip of her night gown. 

"Did you find out where you're going?" She asked, pressing her lips into the curves of his neck.

Ryker moved his lips to her ear to whisper another secret she'd take to the grave: just like she safeguarded all his secrets. The wife of an agent of the Kremlin knew who she married. She was as loyal to the agency as Ryker himself. 

He answered without a moment's hesitation. He liked that she knew where he went and what he did while there. He filtered some of the content, cleaned up the story, but sometimes he wondered if she liked the scent of violence that followed her husband like a cloud. Not every tale was car chases and near misses, but many were, especially when the United States was involved. 

"Ohio," he replied, and she gripped him hard enough to make him wince.

Yes, she liked it.  Damn, he loved her.