The bourbon tasted too thick in his throat.

He was a wine connoisseur, not anything more or less; in spite of his apparently illegal age currently in this damned country, he was still attending wine tastings, courtesy of a fake ID that he only needed for a few more weeks. After that, everything would be just fine.

For the most part.

He was, admittedly, extremely pleased with himself. The work he did for his general was quite satisfying, and Jet was a worthy man - boy - to report to, in spite of his young age and his somewhat shorter stature. And he thoroughly, thoroughly enjoyed being Gadolinite. There was something liberating and free about getting to assume another identity and do whatever it was that he wanted under that guise; a sort of magical, incredible flying sensation that set his nerves skating around with the adrenaline rush that accompanied this feeling.

He knew all about different identities by now.

Seth set the still mostly full glass down on the table beside his sleek leather armchair and pushed himself to his feet. He was too restless to sit still; too on edge, too lost in the memories and the thoughts of things he was, deliberately, trying to forget after all this time. It was why he had come here in the first place, why he had decided to walk (run) away that time; and he was not going to let anyone stand in his way, not after how hard he had worked to get to where he was now.

Seth Volkov. Son of...well, his father, and although he didn't really speak much to his parents these days, he'd done what they'd asked. He given them back all that he had apparently taken from them, or whatever it was that they'd claimed several years back. It had taken all of his ******** pride just to go to them and say anything at all, but there had been extenuating circumstances outside of his control.

He was getting too caught up in it, in old memories, in tainted thoughts. He had a life now, a damn ******** good life, with all the wealth and all the materialistic things he could want. And it wasn't really just materialistic; Seth wanted them, wanted the prestige and the glory and the excitement of knowing just how it felt to sit behind the wheel of a Porsche or drink a sip from a fifty year old wine while sitting in a Michelin star restaurant.

He was very content with his life.

For the most part.

His bedroom was vast, a massive space that was carved out in the right wing of the mansion Seth currently resided in. It had a California King sized bed with glossy red silk sheets and dark wood furniture, an attached en suite bathroom making it so he never had to go far for anything he needed. Everything was expensively suited to his exact tastes, and he loved it.

Seth sat down on the edge of the bed, reached to tug open the drawer of his bedside table, and tugged it open. There were several things of various miscellany all crowded inside, but Seth pushed them all aside, instead pulling out an old, battered book that was tucked carefully away at the back.

The title was worn off now, illegible. Seth peeled it open and a picture fell out from among its pages, yellowed like the book around the edges, and fell onto his lap.

Seth stared at it for a long moment. Then, carefully, he reached down and picked it up again, a thumb brushing over the dusty surface, looking down at the laughing, grinning face, and his own, bright eyed and excited, both of them looking ridiculously pleased with themselves.

He had not felt that way in a long time. Seth closed his eyes.

After a moment, he tucked the photograph away again, safely between the pages, and put the book back where he'd found it.