The lack of weighty disdain in his voice does not pass her by. Anya suspects that perhaps Gleb has caught some of the holiday spirit. New Year's Eve is significantly less commercialized than Christmas is here and while it's more of a celebration it is less of an affront to Bolshevik sensibilities. Being a good member of the party had never been anything that she had been accused of. Keeping her head down, working to gather money and looking for a means of getting out of Russia had been her singular goal.

She'd succeeded in that. Now Russia is an entire world away. An entire lifetime, gone with a fury of anger.

"Yes it is," she agrees with a faint nod of her head as she comes to a stop. The lights and the cheering warms her in a way that is different from the coat. Perhaps the champagne really has gone entirely to her head, but the giddiness of the crowd is contagious. Another nod as she realizes that the countdown has started.

"Ten....nine...eight..."

She counts down along with them, pulling her gaze away from the effigy to look up at Gleb. Her hand is still clasped in his. As confusing as it may be, all the news that he has so recently shared with her, a history she still needs to unpack, she is glad that she isn't alone. That she is looking at the future with someone who remembers the past.

"Seven..."

The soft smile she offers him in genuine, her head tilted up to meet his eyes.