"This way. Come on."
Wylder smiled. Brighter than normal, even if it was partly forced. He had reparations to make, sure, but beyond that he was genuinely happy to lure his friend into a trap that Wylder knew would please him so deeply. Stepping backwards, he pushed open the door to the vacant roof top, and let Anatoly pass him. After the male twin stepped into Chicago's early evening breeze, Wylder sealed the door shut behind them and took a nervous breath of the mid-autumn air.
It was cold in such a familiar way -- despite the weather's bite, it offered a nostalgia and jolliness that was undeniable, even after the holidays had passed. Wylder was used to the cold and he was prepared, bundled up as he meandered the streets of London. However, the Wylder was not familiar with this city. He was a small town American, save his time at CAW and what little experience he had since moving to Italy. If he was in London, there must be a good reason.
And there was. It was all that had been on the man's mind really, for the duration of his trip across the channel. He let his worries and impatience with the proceedings relieve themselves by fiddling with a small leather pouch in his pocket. The pouch was something he'd made himself, crafted many years ago, character and age marking the vessel's patina and formed around its contents. Wylder carried it with him almost everywhere. But it was finally time to give it away.
He was outside Vaska, right on time, he thought as he checked his watch. Of course, he knew that it was impossible to be sure about the end of a shift when it came to working in a kitchen.