Klaus and Egor were taken to a basement facility that, despite its location, was outfitted like a fully equipped private clinic.
White walls.Sterile steel tables.A cramped office. Two makeshift wards.
Two women were waiting—one middle-aged, the other only slightly older than Egor.
"Bring the injured one here," the older woman said sharply, already turning toward one of the wards.
Egor moved to follow the stretcher, but she stopped him cold and slammed the door in his face.
Through the narrow window, he caught a glimpse—Klaus being transferred onto a bed, limp, unresisting. A tray of surgical instruments gleamed under the harsh light.
The door opened again. Egor stepped aside as two men pushed the empty stretcher past him.
The last thing he saw—the younger assistant sliding a needle into Klaus's arm, drawing what little blood he had left.
"Come on, kid. I'll get you some coffee."
The man who had kept Klaus alive in the van rested a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"I don't—" Egor glanced back at the closed door.
"We've done everything we can. Now it's up to Margot… and whether the boy decides to hold on. Standing here won't change a damn thing."
The push wasn't rough—but it wasn't something he could refuse.
They sat in a cramped office, drinking strong, bitter coffee in silence.
Egor was exhausted. Every muscle in his body ached. But the tension kept him upright, rigid, unable to collapse.
Klaus was dying.
Because of him.
"I doubt he'll wake before morning," the man said at last. "If he wakes at all. Go home. Get some sleep. Come back tomorrow."
"I'm not leaving him."
"He's not alone. And right now, it makes no difference to him whether you're here or not." The man's voice hardened. "You're going home."
"That's not—"
"It's not a request."
He shoved a folded piece of paper into Egor's hand.
"Address. My number. Sleep first. Then call."
Egor swallowed the words burning in his throat and nodded.
A few minutes later, a broad-shouldered brute appeared in the doorway.
To Egor, they all looked the same.
He followed him down the corridor, trying to catch a glimpse through one of the windows—but a privacy screen blocked everything.
"Wait."
The young assistant caught up with him and handed him a black bag.
Inside: a phone, the sword's sheath, a heavy wallet, and a thick stack of cash.
"Thanks," Egor muttered, disoriented, dropping the short sword he'd been carrying into the bag.
At home, he went straight to his room.
Pauoka didn't ask anything. She knew better. Questions could wait.
He lay awake for hours.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Klaus.
Broken. Blood-soaked. Motionless.
Dead.
And every time, the same words echoed in the darkness:
It's all because of you.
He woke at dawn with a strangled cry.
"No!"
Pauoka rushed in.
She found him sitting on the bed Klaus had used, clutching a pillow, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
She closed the door quietly behind her.
She didn't know how to comfort him now—just like she hadn't known how twelve years ago.
After a shower, Egor stepped into the kitchen.
The newly renovated space still smelled of fresh materials. He barely noticed.
"Egor," Pauoka began carefully.
"I'm not hungry. Just coffee." He hesitated. "Is it too early to call?"
She glanced at the clock. 7:21.
"You should wait until nine," she said gently. "How are you holding up?"
"Better than Klaus."
Flat. Hollow.
He knew what she wanted him to say.
He just couldn't give it to her.
The kidnapping didn't haunt him.The possession didn't haunt him.
Betrayal did.
He had betrayed Klaus.
And Klaus had followed him without hesitation—straight into this.
"I think he might already be…" Egor stopped himself.
Silence stretched.
"It's all my fault," he said at last.
Pauoka didn't interrupt.
"He seemed so damn heartless," Egor went on. "A man died because of us, and he didn't give a shit. Not even a little. I got angry. I blamed him. I acted like a spoiled idiot. Dumped everything on him and walked away."
The words kept coming, faster now.
"And now I'm here… and he's there. Alone. And I still can't do anything."
He slammed his fist against his chest.
"What am I supposed to do, Grandma? It hurts. Right here." His voice broke. "I never even imagined… never thought he could end up like this. If it wasn't for me—"
Pauoka exhaled slowly.
"You and Klaus grew up in completely different worlds," she said. "For you, a stranger's death is a tragedy. For him… it's routine."
Egor looked up.
"In Isorobia, death is part of survival. People kill to stay alive. Those who aren't born into noble houses grow up surrounded by it. Tell me—what do you think would've happened to the prince if he mourned every single death tied to him?"
She held his gaze.
"If he let every loss pass through his heart?"
"He would've gone mad a long time ago."
Egor lowered his eyes.
"So he became heartless just to survive?"
Pauoka raised an eyebrow.
"Heartless? Is that what you call him?" she said quietly. "If anything, he's far too soft for someone meant to rule a place like that."
She shook her head.
"If it were up to me, I'd never send him back. He belongs here. Not there."
Egor arrived at the underground clinic at exactly eleven.
He hadn't called ahead.
Standing before the locked iron door, he pulled out his phone and dialed.
"Hello, I'd like to—"
"Oh. The boy from yesterday?"
"Yes. How is he—"
"You can visit. Though it won't do much good."
"He…?"
"He's alive. Still unconscious. When will you be here?"
"I'm already here."
A pause.
"Well. Lucky you. I'm on-site. They'll open the door."
The same young nurse met him and led him to the ward without a word.
Klaus lay motionless, hooked up to machines, an oxygen mask covering his face.
Egor sat down and carefully took his hand.
Cool.
Not cold anymore.
For the first time, Klaus looked completely defenseless.
Even when he had collapsed in their kitchen, he had still seemed like someone ready to strike back at any moment.
Now—
Nothing.
Just stillness. Tubes. Machines.
A body suspended between life and death.
He was alive.
That was all that mattered.
The surgeon stepped in and checked the IV.
"He's tough," she said. "Didn't think he'd make it."
"When will he wake up?"
She didn't even look at him.
"No idea. Let's hope he wakes up at all. No point keeping him here longer than a week. If he doesn't come around, move him to a hospital. Let them keep his body breathing."
She finally met his eyes.
"Though I wouldn't waste the effort."
Something inside Egor dropped, heavy and final.
"So he might never wake up?"
"I just told you. The odds are bad."
She left.
Three days passed.
Egor went back to work—he had no choice.
Every day, he visited Klaus.
Talked to him. Read to him. Told him about work.
Not knowing if he could hear.
Hoping he could.
On the fourth day, Klara called him in.
She wasn't alone.
"Hello," Egor said cautiously.
"Sit," Klara said lazily. "Egor, I've heard your story. I'll ask again. Where is Klaus?"
"I told you—he left without explanation. You know what he's like. He might not come back."
"I see."
She turned to the man beside her.
"You hear that, Sasha? That bastard just vanished."
The man spoke calmly.
"Klara. A favor."
"You already know the answer."
"Give us ten minutes alone."
She hesitated—then stood.
"Of course."
The door closed.
The man watched it for a moment, then turned back to Egor.
"You think I got where I am by failing to recognize an obvious lie?"
Egor went pale.
"You're Klaus's brother?"
He nodded.
"I saw him a few days ago. We were outside the city. Then he got your call. Said your life was in danger. He left immediately."
Silence.
"Who are you?" Egor asked.
"Doesn't matter. What matters is this—Klaus never left the city. Before he did, he borrowed something from me."
A pause.
"I want it back."
Egor's mind jumped to the black bag.
"The sword?"
"Yes. And I want to see him. He promised to return it himself."
"He can't," Egor said quietly. "He's in a clinic."
The man's expression darkened.
"There's no record."
"It's… not exactly legal."
"What happened?"
"He was stabbed. Saving me. He lost a lot of blood. He's been in a coma for four days."
Egor's voice broke.
Forty minutes later, they stood at the iron door.
After a tense exchange—and a promise to pay for everything—they were let in.
While money was being discussed, Egor slipped into the ward.
"Hey," he whispered, taking Klaus's hand. "Turns out you made a powerful friend. They're moving you today. Maybe that'll help."
His grip tightened.
"Come back. Please."
The door opened.
Alexander stepped inside slowly.
"My God…" he murmured, brushing Klaus's hair back. "What a hell of a place to dump you."
More men entered. Efficient. Silent.
Klaus was transferred onto a stretcher.
Egor moved to follow—but Alexander stopped him.
"Not tonight. Come tomorrow. Here."
He handed him an address.
Egor nodded.
"Thank you," Alexander said quietly. "You did the right thing."
He followed the stretcher.
Egor stayed behind.
Alone.