[ It's disappointing to hear—but not surprising, not after the way he's been treated. This is what they do when you've outlived your usefulness, even if you're a Hero of the Soviet Union. It's not how things are supposed to be. It never should have been like this, Lenin never wanted it to be like this.

He's not sure that Konstantin's mother would have been told he was in recovery, truth be told: that the KGB and assorted state intelligence networks at play here would go to the effort necessary to craft such a mistruth to begin with. She was just probably told he died of unrelated causes shortly after landing and will be given a hero's funeral—but Vasiliy keeps that thought to himself. It wouldn't be kind and it wouldn't serve any purpose to share it.

Vasiliy suppresses a yawn—slowly, the massive spike of cortisol from his sudden relocation is tapering off, leaving a carved-out shell of a person in its shadow. He can't truly relax, not when he knows he'll be tortured before too long, but his body is unable to maintain such a heightened state indefinitely. ]

You work hard. You deserve to rest. Even if it would be better to not rest here. ...Moscow is a nice city. I liked it.