In the silence that followed the Fury's departure, Kassian stepped closer to Isaev. His eyes were dark with concern, though his expression stoic, and he grazed his bare hand against the lieutenant's arm.

The gesture could have been accidental, or could have been a casual inquiry, the careless contact between friends, but it was not, and he knew Isaev would know it.

It was not the place for more.

He said nothing, but watched Isaev, the silent query in his eyes.

In the brief moments they had here, and in the presence of the others, it was all he could do.

Ocelot seemed restless, his attention distracted. Volgin was giving orders to the GRU, and then turned to speak to Major Raikov. The Fury's unit had already made their retreat in the wake of their leader's more impressive departure.

Privately, Kassian was glad he'd gotten to see the Fury close up, and gotten a better look at that jetpack. The fuel lines were narrow, and would be difficult to hit mid-flight, but the fuel wells themselves were not.

It was good information to have, in case he ever needed it.

His gaze flicked to the body, momentarily.

There was an undercurrent in the air, like the dropping of pressure before a storm. Kassian felt like he hadn't felt in a long time.

Like he was going to war.