Tired, reeking of smoke, alcohol, and чужого парфюма, Klaus slowly turned the key in the apartment door.
The kitchen light was on.
Fresh coffee.
Warm. Familiar.
Almost normal.
"Good morning, young man," Pauoka's calm voice drifted from the kitchen.
"I hope you'll offer me some coffee."
"Help yourself."
Her gaze lingered on him — from head to toe. Taking in everything.
He hadn't changed.
Didn't have the strength.
After getting the woman home, he had spent far too long trying to leave.
She hadn't wanted to let him go.
The moment they crossed the threshold, she had thrown herself at him.
"I know I shouldn't be doing this," she murmured, pushing him toward the bedroom. "You're still a boy… but God help me, I can't resist you."
"I'm sorry," Klaus tried, forcing his voice steady. "You're right. We don't have to. You're tired. Let me help you lie down, and I'll leave."
"Or maybe another drink?" she smiled, closing the bedroom door behind them. "Unless you're really that eager to get me into bed."
We are not even speaking the same language.
He stood by the bed.
She moved toward him slowly, clumsy, struggling with her shoes. Drunk. Flushed. Breathing heavy.
He tried to guide her away.
Gently.
Useless.
A minute later, he was on the bed.
And she was on top of him.
"I'll regret corrupting a child tomorrow…" she whispered, fumbling with his shirt.
"Please," Klaus said, tension snapping under the surface. "Let's stop."
He could've knocked her out.
Easily.
Walked away.
But then what?
What would she say tomorrow?
What would it cost him?
"You want to take control," she breathed into his face — whiskey, perfume, heat—
—and bit his neck.
Klaus reacted before he thought.
He threw her off.
Pinned her to the mattress.
Hard.
The position was… compromising.
Wrong.
"Listen to me," he said through his teeth. "You need sleep. That's all."
She smiled.
Slow.
Predatory.
Raised her knee toward his groin—
sighed—
…and went limp.
Asleep.
Just like that.
Klaus froze.
"…What?"
A second passed.
Two.
Then he exhaled.
Long. Sharp.
Relief hit him so suddenly it almost hurt.
He stood, covered her with a blanket, stepped out—
paused.
Came back.
Left water.
Aspirin.
Then finally walked out.
It took him hours to get home.
No taxis.
No phone.
Nothing.
Until, by sheer absurd luck, he spotted a yellow cab with a driver asleep inside.
This world runs on these things.
Phones.
Calls.
Contacts.
Without them — you're blind.
He needed one.
Today.
Klaus poured himself coffee, sat down, and emptied his pockets.
Crumpled bills.
All of them.
Onto the table.
"Will this be enough?"
Pauoka frowned, straightened the money, counted.
"There's more than enough. Even considering what we already have." She looked up. "How did you get this in a single day?"
"Don't ask." His voice flattened. "How many times do I have to say it? I earned it. Call your Andryusha."
"Are you sure you can get the same amount again within a week?"
"More than sure," Klaus exhaled. "Is Egor home?"
"He went to bed just before you came in. He told me everything."
"Then you understand why we don't have time."
"I understand something else," Pauoka said quietly. "I'm not as unique as I thought. Just because I haven't seen anyone from our world here… doesn't mean they aren't here."
"We look for them."
"And watch for anything unusual."
"And tattoos."
"They can be hidden," she warned. "Makeup. Clothes. Even layered tattoos. They can't be removed… but they can disappear from sight."
Klaus pressed his fingers to his temple.
"Damn it… my head is splitting. You only have one orb? You ran without taking more stimulants?"
"I didn't have time. I found this one. One of my pursuers dropped it. Mercenaries love them." A pause. "That's why they die so easily."
Egor lay on his mattress when the door creaked open.
"Are you asleep?"
Silence.
Let him think I am.
I don't want to talk to him.
I'm furious.
Klaus crossed the room, opened the wardrobe, took clean clothes.
The smell hit Egor instantly.
Perfume.
Sweet. Heavy. чужой.
So he really did enjoy himself.
The door closed.
Egor opened his eyes.
Jaw tight.
Because of that mark, he had almost died.
Hours at the police station.
Repeating the same lie.
Over and over.
A failed robbery.
A panicked attacker.
Gone.
Then Klara.
Standing there, looking around the wrecked bar like she'd just walked into the wrong building.
"What happened here?"
"You were here the whole time?" Egor had asked.
"In my office. Working," she shrugged. "Why are you here with the police?"
The broken door.
The blood.
Stepan pressing towels to his head.
And she heard nothing.
"I listen to music," she said. "Headphones. Helps with boredom."
Unbelievable.
By the time Egor got home, he was exhausted.
And angry.
"The orb worked in my hands!" Egor said later. "Klaus said only people with magical potential can use it. Is that true?"
"Yes," Pauoka sighed. "But it changes nothing. There is no magic here."
"What is it exactly?"
"A stimulant. Created using slaves whose magic is too weak to matter. They're drained into the orb. Again and again. Until they collapse. Recover. Repeat."
Egor went still.
"Mercenaries use them. When they run out of power, they take more from the orb." She paused. "But the body doesn't recover. Only the magic. Use too many — and when it fades, you die."
"Like Klaus?"
"Yes."
"Then why did he survive?"
"I don't know."
Silence.
"Maybe this world interferes," she added. "It happened to me too."
"And if I absorb it?"
"You won't suddenly become a mage. Magic has to grow with you. From childhood. The body adapts. Learns limits."
"So I'd need to be born in your world?"
"Even then, nothing is guaranteed."
Egor exhaled.
"…That's complicated."
He fell asleep thinking about it.
Dreaming—
Klaus laughing.
Surrounded by half-naked women.
Pointing at him.
"Get lost. I don't need you anymore."
Egor woke sharply.
Breathing hard.
Looked at Klaus — asleep.
Peaceful.
Like nothing touched him.
Egor turned away.
And fell asleep again.
Klaus woke hours later.
Three in the afternoon.
He'd slept through half the day.
Egor's mattress was gone.
Voices drifted from the kitchen.
More than usual.
He dressed quickly and stepped out.
"Good morning."
"More like afternoon," a man replied warmly. "Small world, isn't it?"
"Professor Skotsky." Klaus nodded. "I've wanted to thank you."
"Oh, nonsense! I thought I'd run you over that day. What were you doing on the highway?"
"Long story."
They drank tea.
Cake.
Egor avoided him.
Didn't look at him.
Ignored him.
So he's angry.
Because I left him with the police?
Wasn't he the one who wanted to be useful?
Klaus frowned.
Why does that bother me?
"Get ready," Klaus said. "I need your help."
"I'm not going anywhere with you."
"Really. What are you doing instead?"
"…Watching a movie."
Klaus stared.
"You can watch it later. I need a phone."
"No."
Flat.
Firm.
Pauoka intervened.
"You're going to Andryusha today," she said. "He'll only speak to you directly. Don't forget the envelope. Egor — get ready."
"I'm not involved in this."
"Egor."
Silence.
He stood up anyway.
Outside, Egor muttered:
"I don't want to talk to you. Let's finish this and go separate ways."
"What is wrong with you?" Klaus snapped, grabbing his shoulder.
"Don't touch me!"
"I asked you something."
"It's not about the police!"
"Then what?"
"…How could you go off and have fun after all that?"
"Fun?"
"I saw you. With her."
Klaus blinked.
Then laughed.
Short. Sharp.
"You mean the client?"
"…Client?"
"She's from the second floor. Drank too much. I was told to take her home."
Egor froze.
"So she's not your—"
"No."
"Then what was that?! She was all over you!"
"That's the job."
Silence.
"You're working upstairs now?"
"…Yes." His jaw tightened. "And we're not discussing it."
That was enough.
Egor dropped it.
Mood shifting almost instantly.
"Let's buy you a phone on the way back. I'll help."
Klaus smirked.
"You change moods like a pregnant woman."
"Shut up."
The heat hit them outside.
Too warm for May.
They walked.
Cars rushing past.
Egor talked.
Asked questions.
Klaus answered.
About his world.
About training.
About isolation.
"I lived alone with my teacher from the age of five," Klaus said. "On the outskirts of the capital. Training. Discipline. No distractions."
Egor listened.
Really listened.
And Klaus kept talking.
About Anatodom.
About nobles.
About war.
About being shaped into something useful.
By the time they reached the building, the past had settled back into silence.
The meeting went quickly.
Money exchanged.
Instructions given.
Another job added.
More money needed.
Tomorrow.
Outside, Egor exploded:
"Have you lost your mind? Where are you going to get that money?"
"That's my problem."
"I'm serious! You're not planning to rob a bank?"
Klaus raised an eyebrow.
"…Do I look like a criminal?"
Egor froze.
Then Klaus laughed.
"I'm joking. Relax."
They stopped at a phone store.
Egor chose.
Carefully.
Klaus didn't care about specs.
Just function.
Calls. Messages. Internet.
That was enough.
While paying, Egor's phone rang.
Klara.
"She wants you back. Immediately."
Klaus smiled.
That same polished, perfect smile.
"You'll have to go home alone."
Egor watched him.
Saw it clearly now—
He hated this.
Every second of it.
But he would still go.
Because he had no choice.