12-27-2025, 05:29 PM
Matías felt the warmth of the handshake. Jensen James. The name had a rhythmic, practiced quality to it, as if it had been spoken into microphones and whispered in prayers for a lifetime. Matías didn’t recognize the specific history of the man, but he was idly curious what brought a Texan to Moscow.
"It is a pleasure, Jensen," Matías said, his voice steady despite the lingering emotional debris of Marta’s departure.
He noted the way Jensen watched the gate, the lingering concern in the man’s posture. He wondered what inspired such caution. Perhaps it was the city life.
"I am in Moscow for diplomatic reasons." He didn't elaborate; couldn’t elaborate, but left the explanation politely at that.
When Jensen offered the coffee, Matías felt a flicker of genuine appreciation. He looked at the darkened storefronts lining the boulevard. "I appreciate the offer, truly," Matías said, a small, tired smile touching his lips. “But I think it’s time I retired.”
"It is a pleasure, Jensen," Matías said, his voice steady despite the lingering emotional debris of Marta’s departure.
He noted the way Jensen watched the gate, the lingering concern in the man’s posture. He wondered what inspired such caution. Perhaps it was the city life.
"I am in Moscow for diplomatic reasons." He didn't elaborate; couldn’t elaborate, but left the explanation politely at that.
When Jensen offered the coffee, Matías felt a flicker of genuine appreciation. He looked at the darkened storefronts lining the boulevard. "I appreciate the offer, truly," Matías said, a small, tired smile touching his lips. “But I think it’s time I retired.”
![[Image: Matias-signature.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Matias-signature.jpg)
![[Image: aztec-quetzalcoatl-ouroboros-nikolay-todorov.png]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/03/aztec-quetzalcoatl-ouroboros-nikolay-todorov.png)