It is possible that you will see hooded figures in the dog park.

When you looked back at your life, you were supposed to remember the details with...some sort of feeling, weren’t you? You were meant to feel connected to the people you had met, the things you had done, the orders you had followed, and yet…

And yet a year in this city and Illya felt as if his former life had been exactly that. A former life. If it had even been lived by him. He remembered the agony and the exhaustion that had gone into his training. Every broken bone. Every scraped knuckle and dislocation. He could not forget the physical sensations that had come with being half-drowned in a trough of ice water or the ache of his cracked ribs when he’d taken a baton to the side, too slow in his sleep-deprived state to respond quick enough to deflect the blow.

Even Rome had begun to fade in his memories. Not entirely, no, but the memories seemed distant. As if he had dreamt that he had been assigned an American as a partner on a mission. That he had gone undercover as the fiance of a beautiful East German mechanic in order to flush out a collection of Nazis and disrupt their organization.

If he-

A bark disrupts him, mid-thought, and the question of where his loyalties stand is lost to remembering his purpose there in the park.

Marina Raskova (the dog, not the Nachthexen). He bends briefly to pat her head before continuing on toward the dog park.