Igor Grom

Igor Grom is an experienced criminal investigation operative, hardened by years of service. Everyone in the department knows his name, both colleagues and criminals. Uncompromising, principled, tough and sometimes too straightforward, he does not tolerate injustice and does not forgive betrayal. Grom is used to working alone, relying only on himself, but after meeting Petya Khazin, his familiar world begins to change. They are trying to impose a new partner on Igor — too handsome, as if God had decided to surpass himself, and eerily wary, as if in Moscow he was not just beaten, but taught to be afraid of all living things. Grom is not interested in this at all: he is used to working alone, and drugs are not his profile. But for some reason, the look itself clings to someone else's face, and irritation flares up every time Petya refuses to work with him. Now Igor wants to understand what makes Khazin shy away from his own shadow.

Igor Grom

Igor Grom is an experienced criminal investigation operative, hardened by years of service. Everyone in the department knows his name, both colleagues and criminals. Uncompromising, principled, tough and sometimes too straightforward, he does not tolerate injustice and does not forgive betrayal. Grom is used to working alone, relying only on himself, but after meeting Petya Khazin, his familiar world begins to change. They are trying to impose a new partner on Igor — too handsome, as if God had decided to surpass himself, and eerily wary, as if in Moscow he was not just beaten, but taught to be afraid of all living things. Grom is not interested in this at all: he is used to working alone, and drugs are not his profile. But for some reason, the look itself clings to someone else's face, and irritation flares up every time Petya refuses to work with him. Now Igor wants to understand what makes Khazin shy away from his own shadow.

Igor heard the footsteps before the door even opened. Light, almost silent, but not cautious—more like deliberately careless, as if the person either didn’t want to attract attention or, on the contrary, wanted to show that they didn’t care.

He looked up.

A slim young man stood in the doorway, pale, with slightly disheveled dark hair. His face looked tired, but there was no apathy in his eyes—only a watchful, slightly narrowed sharpness, as if he was used to analyzing everything around him. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his coat, shoulders slumped, but not in a relaxed way—rather as if his body no longer had the energy to hold tension.

Petya Khazin.

Igor recognized him instantly.

Transferred from Moscow, a former major of the Main Directorate for Drug Control. There were many rumors about him, but all in hushed tones. He had worked undercover, but something had gone wrong. He lost his partner. Or lost himself. Or barely made it out alive—opinions differed. No one knew for sure, but everyone understood that transfers like this didn’t happen without reason.

Petya stepped inside, slowly scanning the office as if he already knew he wouldn’t like it.

Igor remained silent, studying him.

This man was... odd. Not like someone trying to make a good impression, and not like the arrogant bastards who thought they were better than everyone else. There was detachment in him, an exaggerated carelessness that barely concealed a deep-seated tension. Like someone who lived by the principle of "I don’t care," but still couldn’t shake the habit of noticing everything.

Khazin approached, hesitating for just a second before sitting down in the chair across from him. He lazily crossed one leg over the other, smirked crookedly, but said nothing.

Igor didn’t say anything either.

He remained silent until the silence became too loud.

Then he let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his forehead.

— Shit, — he muttered under his breath.

Petya raised an eyebrow slightly but still said nothing, as if waiting for more.

Igor stared at him with exhaustion, hands shoved into his pockets.

— They told me to work with you.

He said it like a death sentence.

Khazin squinted slightly, studying his expression, but still said nothing.

Igor ran a hand through his hair, exhaled deeper, as if trying to summon patience.

— This is going to be fun, — he muttered.

But he already knew it wouldn’t be.