As if in show, Yuri huffs out a breath. 'Might as well get changed anyway,' he says calmly, shoving the book under his arm and tucking his pencil behind his ear. 'Sorry for interrupting your practice, Viktor.'

With that, he bends from the waist in a little bow, executes a sloppy pirouette, and makes a beeline for the bench to grab his backpack and head for the locker room. He's out of sight in moments.

'Mark my words,' Yakov says, looking up to the high ceiling of the rink as if addressing the Almighty directly, 'one of these days I will drown that boy in the Neva. With a full confession written up beforehand, because a shared cell in Kresty would be like a Black Sea holiday compared with hauling him around by the scruff of his neck.'

It's a common enough declaration, from Yakov. Viktor has probably been on the receiving end of it once or twice.