"Master… if I may."
The voice slipped out of the shadows.
Jiro stopped halfway up the stairs.
"Kaimi?"
"I've found him."
A beat.
"Come."
"Yes, Master."
The bedroom was dim, lit only by the uneven flicker of the fire.
A servant finished arranging the candles, bowed low, and vanished without a sound.
Jiro sat.
Didn't rush.
Didn't speak.
Kaimi stood before him, head lowered.
Waiting.
"Speak."
"The prince is in another world. As you suspected. Reaching him directly is… difficult." A pause. "With the help of the air mage from your stimulant factory, I located a portal and sent an observer through it."
"And?"
"It's not enough."
Jiro leaned back slightly.
Unimpressed.
"What do you need?"
"A portal mage. Rare. Expensive." A breath. "Or the boy from the factory. Give him to me. I'll restore him. Then we can use the existing portal without restriction."
"Where is it?"
"A village. About twenty kilometers from here."
"Far."
"Yes."
Silence stretched.
Then—
"I'll acquire a portal slave," Jiro said calmly. "You focus on the boy."
A slight nod.
"If he can reopen even a weakened portal… he may be worth something."
A pause.
"How did he end up at the factory?"
"I don't know."
"Find out."
"Yes, Master."
"Send in the advisor."
Kaimi bowed.
Gone.
Jiro stared into the fire.
"How did you end up so far away…" he murmured.
His fingers tightened on the armrest.
"I don't have time for this."
The stadium roared.
Noise slammed into Klaus from all sides.
Bodies.
Voices.
Movement.
Too much.
He sat still.
Watching nothing.
Tall men jumped, smashed the ball over the net. The crowd reacted — cheers, applause, bursts of noise that meant absolutely nothing to him.
Alexander leaned in.
Talking.
Always talking.
"You're serious? You've never seen volleyball?" he laughed. "Where are you from? Another planet? Actually… you still haven't answered that."
"A small country," Klaus said lightly. "Far from all this."
Alexander's gaze lingered.
Sharp.
Patient.
Not convinced.
Just waiting.
Tanya wasn't watching the game either.
She sat on Klaus's other side, irritated, tapping messages into her phone, shooting annoyed looks at her father.
Because he sat between them.
Because Klaus wasn't accessible.
Because she couldn't look at him the way she wanted.
The touches started early.
Too casual.
Too frequent.
A hand brushing his knee.
Again.
Lingering.
Longer each time.
Alexander kept talking.
Explaining.
Laughing.
Leaning closer.
Always closer.
Klaus sat rigid.
Counting.
Seconds.
Breaths.
Heartbeats.
Just get through this.
End of the match.
That's all.
Dinner followed.
Of course.
Tanya agreed immediately.
Klaus didn't refuse.
He couldn't.
He was being paid.
He lowered the mask slightly.
Not enough to be real.
Just enough to look like it.
"Where did you meet my dad?"
"Why this job?"
"Are you really from a broken home?"
"You're way hotter than the others he hires."
"Do you have a girlfriend?"
"What do you do on weekends?"
The questions didn't stop.
Didn't slow.
Didn't give him space to breathe.
Even Alexander couldn't shut her up completely.
He tried.
Failed.
And compensated—
with his hands.
Under the table.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Persistent.
Klaus's jaw tightened.
He didn't react.
Didn't move.
Didn't give anything away.
"Alexander Viktorovich," Klaus said smoothly at the end of dinner, forcing the mask back into place. "Thank you for the evening. Tatyana, it was a pleasure."
She flushed instantly.
Too easy.
"Come again," she said quickly. "Dad invites his assistants every week. Wednesday?"
A flicker—
Annoyance.
Gone.
"Of course," Alexander said.
Klaus opened his mouth—
"No."
He didn't get to say it.
"Klaus," Alexander said quietly, locking eyes with him, "I don't accept refusals."
The air tightened.
A trap snapping shut.
"I'd be delighted," Klaus said.
And felt it.
Something closing.
Locking.
The parking lot was almost empty.
Cold air hit his lungs.
Too sharp.
Klaus exhaled.
No metro.
No waiting.
Just walk.
Then—
the gun.
"…Damn it."
He turned back.
The bushes all looked identical.
Same height.
Same branches.
Same shadows.
He checked one.
Nothing.
Another.
Nothing.
Another—
Still nothing.
Time slipped.
Fast.
Irritation rose.
People stared.
He ignored them.
Cap off.
Phone light on.
Search.
Faster.
There—
Something dark.
There.
"Young man."
Klaus froze.
A guard.
Hand already near his baton.
"The area's closed."
"Sorry," Klaus said, still crouched. "Dropped something important."
"Not allowed."
"Right. I'm leaving."
He grabbed the gun in one smooth motion, straightened, hands in pockets.
Nothing to see.
He walked.
Slow.
Steady.
Then—
stopped.
Something moved near a car.
A shape.
Wrong.
Low.
Struggling.
Klaus narrowed his eyes.
Not right.
He moved closer.
Quiet.
Step.
Step—
A scream—
Something slammed into him.
Claws.
Wings.
Feathers exploding into his face—
"—!"
He tore it off—
too late.
The man turned.
Crowbar in both hands.
Protecting something behind him.
Klaus stepped forward.
The man didn't blink right.
Didn't breathe right.
Eyes empty.
Wrong.
Possessed.
Klaus shifted—
Looked past him—
Blond hair.
Bound.
Tape.
Eyes wide—
Egor.
Alive.
"What the hell are you doing here?!" Klaus snapped.
A muffled sound.
Struggling.
Desperate.
"Don't come closer!" the man hissed. "I'll kill you!"
"You tied him up," Klaus said, voice cold, stepping closer. "And you think I'll just walk away?"
"I'll kill you!"
Breathing too fast.
Voice wrong.
Mind gone.
Klaus moved.
Fast.
Gun out—
Shot.
The dart hit the shoulder.
The man jerked—
Reached—
Collapsed.
Hard.
Klaus was already moving.
Tape ripped off—
"Fuck! That hurt!"
"What were you doing here?!"
"Maybe untie me first?!"
Klaus looked around.
Nothing sharp.
Nothing useful.
Just—
metal.
Useless.
He pulled out a lighter.
"Are you insane?!" Egor twisted. "You're going to burn me!"
"Stay still."
Footsteps.
Close.
Too close.
No time.
Flame—
wind—
out.
Again—
out.
"Damn it—"
Klaus grabbed him.
Lifted.
Over his shoulder.
Ran.
Shouts behind them.
"Stop!"
Sirens.
Closer.
Too fast.
Too open.
No cover.
"Klaus—maybe we stop—explain—"
"You think they'll believe us?!"
"They will eventually—we live together—"
"And the man I just shot?!" Klaus snapped. "You think that helps?!"
Cars.
Lights.
Noise.
Too much.
Run.
Just run.
Two patrol cars.
Blocking.
Klaus didn't slow.
Didn't think.
Turn—
Sprint.
Every step heavier.
Egor on his shoulder—
dead weight—
too much—
lungs burning—
legs shaking—
Don't stop.
Road.
Cars honking—
Shouts—
Close—
Too close—
Klaus stumbled—
caught himself—
kept running.
An archway—
dark—
in—
turn—
another—
slip—
almost fell—
barely held on—
grip tightening—
Don't drop him.
Behind—
footsteps.
Closer.
Closer—
Light flickering—
weak—
broken—
shadows—
good—
He cut left.
Behind a utility building.
Dropped.
Breathing loud.
Too loud.
Burning.
Chest tearing open.
Stop.
Listen.
Voices.
Close.
Angry.
Searching.
Then—
fading.
Further.
Gone.
Silence.
Just breathing.
Harsh.
Uneven.
Ragged.
Later.
Kitchen.
Dirty.
Exhausted.
Alive.
"What happens to that man?" Egor asked, voice still shaking.
"He's possessed," Pauoka said. "When he wakes up, he'll keep searching."
"And if he gets arrested?"
"Let's hope he doesn't."
She handed him the orb.
"Keep this with you."
Later.
Alone.
Egor rubbed his wrists.
Dark bruises.
Burning.
Hands still shaking.
He remembered—
Following Klaus.
Losing him at the stadium.
Waiting.
Then—
the man.
"Can I borrow your phone?"
Normal.
Too normal.
Egor handed it over.
Of course he did.
"Let's step aside."
They moved.
Then—
a hand.
Sudden.
Crushing pressure at his back.
"Not a sound."
Cold.
Wrong.
"I'll kill you."
"I—I have money—just take—"
"Take him alive!" the man snapped. "Bring him! Alive!"
Wrong.
Completely wrong.
Possessed.
Too late.
Darkness.
He woke tied.
Cold ground.
Tape over his mouth.
The man nearby.
Working.
Breaking into a car.
Waiting.
For something.
For him.
And then—
Klaus.
Again.
In the dark courtyard, Klaus didn't hesitate.
Didn't panic.
Found metal.
Sawed through the ropes.
Hands steady—
even then.
Even after the chase.
Even half-dead from exhaustion.
He got him out.
Got him home.
Like it was nothing.
Egor followed him.
Silent.
Shaking.
Too aware—
that without him—
he would already be gone.