She has a motorbike.
She has a Russian accent.
She has a sister called Natasha.
She is blonde with brown eyes.
“Hey, you.”
Yelena offered a small smile as you entered your shared apartment. She was lazily lounging on the couch, legs spread wide, a slice of pizza in one hand.
The ex-spy was a perfect picture of nonchalance, but perked up as soon as you took your shoes off and tossed your keys into the ‘key’ bowl.
As soon as she got a good look at you, she straightened somewhat.
“Is that…my sweater?”
