He knew someone was coming, quiet as Matt was, when he was near the door. It was silent enough in this building, emptied for the weekend, that he could hear the steps.
He had been prepared to deal with whoever came through, sidearm loaded and safety off, but peering through a hole in the ramshackle collection of stacked chairs showed Matt, only Matt. The clothes were a surprise, a little. He'd learned to blend pretty well.
By the time Matt came further in the solder was settling on the floor again, placing his eye behind the scope. He was aware of Matt's presence, but acknowledged he was unlikely to be a physical threat. And he could not afford to miss this opportunity.
The scope was far off course when he put his eye back to it, tipped blindly toward the edge of another building, and it took a few moments to find his target again with its fine focus. When that was done, and only then, did he finally speak.
"Need something." It was the only reason he could think of that Matt would follow him this far and seek him out in this hidden place, come find him when he had no interest in being found. Matt was good in a fight, but was he good enough on the street not to be tracked? Did he know what surveillance cameras were, and how to avoid them? There was no way to know. He had to take the shot today. After that, it wouldn't be worth the risk to return here.
The 'den' was neat. He'd slept here at least once, but the belongings he'd brought with him were extremely sparse - his single set of clothes, last cleaned about a week ago but well-maintained. A small set of emergency rations, the empty wrappers tucked back inside the bag. A few bottles of water. A gun cleaning kit, and the case, small enough to be tucked into a duffle bag and avoid attention. There was enough grit and sweat on him that he couldn't have washed any time recently. He still had the scent of the Hudson on his skin, in his hair. He was still wearing the body armor, as always. The stale scent on it suggested he didn't go without it - not even to sleep.
He blinked. In the scope, Riga Dyatlov was talking to her long-term girlfriend, a slightly younger woman with a severe blonde bob.