Mikhail rang the doorbell at exactly eight in the morning.
Pauoka opened, already in the middle of making breakfast.
"Good morning. I need Klaus Deffender."
"He's still asleep," she said cautiously. "What should I tell him?"
"Wake him. It's urgent. Tell him Mikhail is here. He'll understand."
She gave him another long, suspicious look, then shut the door and headed down the hallway.
She knocked.
No answer.
Of course.
With a sharp exhale, she pushed the door open.
"Klaus. What have you managed to get yourself into now? Some Mikhail is asking for you."
Klaus stirred, pried his eyes open, and sat up, dragging both hands down his face. His loose black hair spilled over his bare back like a dark sheet.
"Why are you yelling, old woman?" he muttered hoarsely.
"I'm telling you — there's a suspicious man at the door. Says it's urgent. Calls himself Mikhail."
Klaus's hands dropped instantly.
He threw off the blanket and reached for his sweatpants, his leg knocking into Egor.
"What… what's going on…?" Egor mumbled, still half-asleep.
"The bloodhound's here," Klaus said.
That was enough.
Both of them were moving within seconds.
Klaus didn't even bother dressing properly — just dragged on his pants and headed straight for the door.
Pauoka froze.
She had never seen him walk out like that.
Not without fixing his hair.
Not without making himself presentable.
Something was wrong.
"Egor, who is this Mikhail?" she asked.
"The one who was supposed to bring information," Egor replied, already moving.
By the time he reached the door, Klaus had already closed it.
A thin yellow envelope rested in his hand.
"It's useless now," Klaus said quietly.
"What do you mean? Why?"
Klaus looked at the envelope.
Then at him.
"That dark-skinned man… is dead."
For a moment, Egor didn't understand.
Then it hit.
Cold.
Immediate.
"What… how?" he asked.
Klaus didn't answer.
He walked past him.
Bathroom.
Door shut.
Ten minutes later, he came out composed.
Hair tied back.
Face calm.
Too calm.
As if nothing had happened.
Egor sat in the gutted kitchen with Pauoka.
Bare concrete walls.
A plastic table dragged in from the balcony.
Old stools.
Dust.
Metal.
Cold air.
"Can I have coffee?" Klaus asked, like it was any other morning.
"Your breakfast is on the stove. Pour it yourself," Pauoka said.
Egor stared at him.
Waiting.
Nothing.
"Klaus," he said finally, voice tightening, "what happened?"
Klaus chewed.
Slowly.
Swallowed.
"They took him to the station."
"And?"
"He was possessed, Egor."
Silence.
That was it.
Something inside Egor snapped.
"Can you answer properly for once?" he burst out. "Just once!"
Pauoka touched his arm lightly.
"Egor—"
"Grandma, not now!" he cut in sharply. "Just tell me — is it our fault? Did we kill him?"
"No," she said firmly.
Relief hit first.
Sharp.
Immediate.
Then—
"But the one who cast the spell did," she continued. "A possessed man cannot resist. He doesn't feel hunger, fatigue, pain. Nothing exists except the command."
Her voice softened.
"He would have thrown himself against the bars. Again and again. Until his body gave out."
A pause.
"I'm sorry for him. But no one could have saved him."
Egor went still.
Then—
understood.
He died because of them.
Because of him.
He could have taken the orb.
Could have gone back.
Could have tried.
He hadn't.
Didn't even think about it.
He let him die.
"Don't start tearing yourself apart," Klaus said, taking a slow sip of coffee.
Egor looked at him sharply.
"How do you know what I'm thinking?"
Klaus stood.
"Because I've been there."
A pause.
"Come on. We're going out."
"I don't want to."
"I wasn't asking."
The walk was tense.
Heavy.
Egor followed anyway.
Of course he did.
He couldn't stop seeing it—
A man in a cell.
Throwing himself at iron bars.
Again.
Again.
Again—
Until something inside him broke.
And Klaus?
Calm.
Cold.
Untouched.
Egor looked at him differently now.
Really looked.
Nothing shook him.
Not death.
Not guilt.
Not people.
He snapped at Pauoka.
Dismissed Klara.
Used everyone.
Like it was natural.
Like people were just—
tools.
And Egor—
had called him a friend.
They stopped outside a small, greasy café.
"Let's eat," Klaus said, already opening the door.
"I'm not hungry."
Klaus didn't argue.
Just went inside.
Sat.
Waited.
And Egor followed.
Again.
Pathetic.
"Beer? Cider?" Klaus said, scanning the menu. "Doesn't look like they have much else."
"I said I don't want anything."
"Come on. We need to think. That lead is gone."
Egor stared at the table.
At a scratch in the fake wood.
Anywhere but him.
"Do you feel anything at all?" he asked quietly.
Klaus looked up.
"What?"
"That man."
A pause.
"His death."
Klaus exhaled.
"Don't start."
"Why not?" Egor snapped, finally looking at him. "Doesn't it bother you? Even a little?"
"Why would it?"
That was it.
"I've had enough," Egor said, voice rising. "You're selfish. Cold. You don't care about anyone but yourself!"
People nearby glanced over.
He didn't care.
"You treat people like they don't matter!" he continued. "Like they're tools! Maybe where you come from that's normal — maybe slaves don't count — but is there really nothing human in you?"
Klaus's gaze hardened.
"Stop being hysterical."
"Hysterical?!" Egor laughed bitterly. "A man is dead!"
"And what do you expect me to do?" Klaus shot back, voice still controlled — too controlled. "Mourn him? Will that bring him back?"
"At least feel something!"
A flicker.
Fast.
Almost invisible.
"I do feel something," Klaus said coldly. "I feel that this changes nothing."
Silence dropped between them.
Heavy.
Final.
"I don't want to see you anymore," Egor said, pushing his chair back. "I thought we were friends."
A beat.
"I was wrong."
Klaus didn't move.
Didn't stop him.
"You're a terrible person."
"Then leave," Klaus said.
Just like that.
Egor stood there for a second.
Waiting.
For anything.
Anything at all.
Nothing came.
He turned.
Walked out.
What had he expected?
An apology?
Regret?
That Klaus would say—
you matter to me?
Stupid.
Naive.
Klaus sat alone.
Staring at the empty chair.
His phone vibrated.
"Yes."
"I know you're off today," Klara said quickly, "but I need you. Important client. Very important. Please, just this once—"
"I agree."
Silence.
"Sorry—what?"
"I said I agree."
Another pause.
"Klaus… is that really you?"
"Is there a problem?"
"No, I—just—never mind."
"Send me the details."
He hung up.
Ordered food.
A lot of it.
Steak.
Ragout.
A sandwich.
Coffee.
He ate slowly.
Mechanically.
Didn't taste anything.
Checked the message.
Paid.
Left a generous tip.
Outside, the air felt empty.
Too open.
Too quiet.
He tried not to think about Egor.
Didn't work.
That hollow feeling—
it came back.
Sharp.
Unpleasant.
Familiar.
He shouldn't get attached.
He knew how that ended.
Everyone he ever let close—
left.
Or was taken.
Every time.