"Eastern outskirts. Abandoned vehicle plant..."
The cursed objects had come from somewhere.
This address, combined with the encrypted broadcast, pointed toward one answer, a black market access point, or something adjacent to one.
The timing suggested operational hours. The brass key with its engraved passphrase suggested an entry requirement on top of that.
Three layers of verification, possibly four. That level of operational security meant something worth protecting.
"Finally."
His eyes had suffered enough. He'd gotten what he came for, and he was ready to leave.
Then he stopped.
He looked at the walls.
He pulled every photograph down. The books too, and the cushion with Elena's drawn-on face.
He piled it all in the corner, took out a lighter, and set it burning.
Then he stood there patiently until the pile had reduced itself to ash and dying embers, put it out with the flat's small fire extinguisher, and left with nothing but the radio.
