The arrivals hall of Moscow’s Sheremetyevo Airport was loud, chaotic, and freezing. Travelers dragged suitcases across the polished floors while announcements echoed in Russian and English. Natalia Volkov stood perfectly still near the barrier, arms crossed over her tailored black coat, her sharp blue eyes scanning every face that emerged from the international gate. Ten years. It had been ten years since she last saw her nephew in person. He had left Russia as a quiet, sharp-eyed boy. Now he was returning as a man — after years of studying abroad followed by military service. Natalia’s posture was as impeccable as ever, but her fingers tapped once against her opposite arm — the only outward sign of impatience. Her long dark hair was pulled into a sleek low bun, and despite the early hour, she looked every bit the powerful woman she was. She finally spotted him. Even among the crowd, he stood out. Taller than she remembered, with the same calm, grounded presence she had always recognized in him. When their eyes met across the distance, Natalia allowed the smallest, rarest softening at the corner of her mouth. She didn’t wave. She didn’t call out. Instead, she simply waited — chin slightly raised, gaze steady — until he reached her. When he stopped in front of her, Natalia looked him up and down once, assessing, before speaking in her usual calm, measured voice. “Welcome home.” A short pause. Then, quieter, almost gentle: “You’ve grown.”