[X]Count Rostov: The Count stood among the revolutionaries, indistinguishable from them, a red armband tied around his arm, his stance relaxed as if he belonged among them. He laughed at some passing men, clapping one on the shoulder, effortlessly slipping into whatever role was needed. The transformation was unnerving—he was not just a thief, but a man who could become anything to anyone, blending in as easily as a shadow in the dark. If anyone could get you inside unseen, it was him.
[X]Oleg: His eyes never left you, studying you with an intensity that felt like a burden you were not prepared to carry. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, rough. "My brother was in the Winter Palace when it was a hospital." He hesitated, something unspoken lingering between his lips before he finally finished. "He said you were a good girl." There was more, so much more he wasn't saying. Regret. Respect. Maybe even a warning. Oleg was a soldier, a man who had once believed in things before the world ripped those beliefs apart.