Ilya could feel the girls holding on to his jacket as he walked down the hall. He was a little saddened that Derek did not want to come, but he could not blame him. He pictured his home, a rustic wooden farmhouse next to his fields. The paint was old, and the wood was well worn, although the foundation was still solid. He let this image fill his mind, closing his eyes as he continued his stride. In an instant, the magic of his boots triggered, and he disappeared from the university hallway in midstep. His foot set down in Russian soil when he opened his eyes. 

It was 4 am in Russian time, and it was still dark out. The sun wouldn't rise for almost two more hours, though the deepest part of the night was over. His lights were on in his house, he had made sure to keep them on in case he got back late. The weather was cold, not below freezing but very farm from the warmth of California's climate. Ilya's jacket and years of adaptation meant that he didn't feel it very much, but he wondered about his companions.

He turned around to address them, hope to calm them down a bit. Ilya said "Do not be alarmed. This is my farm, we're in Russia now. I can bring you back if you want, but I would like to at least give you the papers I have been saving for you. I will be back shortly, if the cold bothers you can follow me into the house." He walked on the path into his his humble abode, trying to remember where he had left the files he intended to give them.