Marvo sat on a hard chair, his body gripped by a sense of heaviness, as if everything around him had become thick and unbearably constricting. A sack over his head covered his eyes, depriving him of any sense of where he was. Every breath was painful, and his head throbbed as though metal hammers were pounding inside it.

  Something cold and viscous clung to the back of his head, and with every passing moment that cold seeped deeper, echoing through every nerve. The slightest movement of his head brought a sharp pain, as if needles were piercing his brain, making the agony even more unbearable. He wanted to move, to try at least to turn around, but every attempt felt as though it shattered against an invisible wall.

  Voices hummed around him — blurred and distorted, as if they were coming from another dimension — but they still pierced the darkness. He could barely make out a few phrases; their words felt heavy, like stones falling from a great height, and with each sound his consciousness grew dimmer, as if they were striking the walls of his empty, dark subconscious.

  “What did you do…?” someone’s voice reached him, breaking off halfway through. It wasn’t just a sound — it was a direct blow to his nerves.

  Marvo sat in the darkness, trying to understand what was happening to him. His hands were bound behind his back, and although at first it seemed like nothing more than painful sensations, he soon realized he couldn’t move them at all. The ropes tightened around his wrists, and no matter how much effort he made, he couldn’t free himself.

  His head was still clouded by pain, but the conversations he could hear were beginning to fill the space around him more clearly. At first it had been indistinct mumbling, but now the words were becoming sharper.

  “How could you let her get away?” a heavy, menacing voice growled. Marvo didn’t immediately understand who it was, but he felt each word strike his mind like a loud blow to the head.

  He tried to listen more closely. One of the men, clearly frightened, could be heard trying to justify himself:

  “All right, him — but you, Pooch, how?!” The leader’s voice was cold as ice. This was clearly the man who made the decisions, and his displeasure was impossible to miss.

  Pooch began to make excuses, his eyes bulging, explaining that they hadn’t expected the kid to burst out from behind the building like that. They had been following that girl for several days, but the unexpected turn of events — when he ran straight out of the shadows — had turned everything upside down. Coming back with the boy had been a forced move, something they had never planned.

  “I’ll never believe in my life that this little piece of trash could have gotten in your way!” the leader snapped with open fury.

  Pooch tried to justify himself again, but his voice sounded increasingly uncertain.

  “We’ll fix everything tomorrow,” he said, but there was no doubt left in Boss’s voice. He was clearly enraged.

  “She’s obviously already gone to the police to get protection. She’s not an idiot. You, on the other hand, are IDIOTS!” Marvo felt his insides tighten with tension.

  “Look, Ryan, it seems he’s coming around,” said another voice, sounding slightly detached, as if its owner wasn’t particularly interested in what was happening to Marvo. It was cold and almost mocking, as though he were watching something small and insignificant.

  The sack that had been covering Marvo’s face was suddenly yanked off, along with the bandage, leaving behind a burning pain at the back of his head. Each abrupt movement felt as though someone were tearing a curtain from his mind, causing a surge of unbearable pain. He barely managed to suppress a groan, hunching over on the chair, trying to ease his condition at least a little.

  “Let’s see what we’ve got here,” a voice said. It belonged to someone in their group whose tone was calm, but edged with a faint threat. Marvo couldn’t even tell who was speaking, but his hands remained bound behind his back, and his body was paralyzed by pain and exhaustion.

  He struggled to open his eyes, but the light from the lamp was blinding. He could make out only vague shapes — shadows moving around him. Suddenly, someone grabbed him by the chin and lifted his head.

  “Come on, kid, open those eyes,” another voice said, with mockery and curiosity.

  He tried again to focus on the words around him, but his head was too heavy to take everything in clearly.

  “Did you see that you almost cracked his skull?” a loud, aggressive voice rang out.

  Marvo realized this man was the head of the whole group. They called him “Boss.” His words were filled with fury.

  “Did you want to bring a corpse in here? So we’d definitely be found? You half-witted idiot!”

  Marvo felt the room suddenly grow quieter. He could see the shifting shadows of people standing around him, but he couldn’t tell exactly how many there were or who they were.

  Out of the entire scene, amid the many voices, he finally picked out the figure of Pooch. He stood slightly off to the side, with a guilty look, yet despite that, he stared at Marvo with open hatred, as if all his rage were directed solely at him. Meanwhile, Boss continued to rant.

  Someone suggested that they could take the boy out to the forest to get rid of the problem, but Boss cut them off sharply:

  “That makes no sense.”

  Marvo felt hands probing his arms and legs again, as if searching his body. He couldn’t tell who exactly was doing it — someone was clearly rummaging through his pockets.

  His windbreaker, his pants — soon the rude hands searched him thoroughly. Every movement caused pain, but Marvo couldn’t move or protest.

  “There’s nothing on him… no phone, no documents…” a quiet voice said, and Marvo realized it was Ryan.

  “Which means he won’t be able to contact anyone just like that.”

  The man everyone called Boss stepped forward, came closer to Marvo, and looked him up and down. He examined the boy in silence, as if assessing the damage. For a few seconds he just stood there, then bent down and pulled back the collar of the windbreaker to look at the bruises on Marvo’s neck and shoulders. Then he placed a hand on Marvo’s head and pressed lightly — Marvo hissed in pain.

  “A little more force, and you would have killed him,” Boss said quietly, but with unmistakable irritation, turning to Pooch. “And with a corpse in the street… you definitely wouldn’t have gotten away with it.”

  Pooch lowered his eyes, clenching his teeth. It seemed he was trying to hold back from making excuses, but still managed to say:

  “But, Boss…”

  “Enough.” Boss waved his hand, cutting him off. The gesture was so expressive that even Ryan looked away. “I’m not interested. You’ve already said enough.”

  For a second, the room seemed to die. Tension hung in the air, and only Marvo’s heavy breathing broke the silence. He felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple. He wanted to say at least one word, but his throat was dry, and fear was squeezing his chest.

  Then, as Boss continued to examine Marvo, he noticed something glinting at his neck — beneath the collar of the turtleneck, something flashed gold. The man frowned, leaned a little closer, and, without asking permission, hooked his fingers around a thin chain.

  An oval pendant emerged from under the fabric — delicate, golden, unmistakably feminine. Boss ran his thumb over its surface, as if checking its authenticity, and snorted softly.

  “What’s this, kid?” he said coldly, without lifting his gaze.

  Marvo, exhausted, with a bruise under his eye and a split lip, barely opened his eyes. He looked up at the man. There was no defiance in his gaze, but no fear either — only pain, and something almost reverent, deep within.

  Boss silently opened the pendant. The tiny clasp clicked, and two miniature photographs were revealed. On the left — a young man, presumably Marvo’s father. He wore an open, warm smile. Short stubble, a confident look, a slight tilt of the head — he looked alive, real.

  And on the right — a woman. Young, beautiful, with soft, wavy hair not yet as long as Marvo remembered it in the last days of her life. She looked straight into the camera with a gentle smile, and there was so much life and love in her eyes that even Boss froze for a moment.

  He closed the pendant, but didn’t let go of it. His face grew more serious, almost thoughtful.

  “What kind of pendant is that…?” someone asked quietly from the side, but Boss didn’t answer. He kept looking at the jewelry.

  “So where are your parents now?” Boss asked calmly, almost casually, as if he were inquiring about someone else’s affairs over a cup of tea.

  The tone was strange. No malice. No pressure. It didn’t sound like an interrogation or an accusation. It was quiet — and precisely because of that, Marvo felt a faint sense of relief for a moment. The room no longer rang with voices, no heavy boots paced the floor. Everything fell silent. As if, with the shouting gone, the very air had left the room as well, leaving behind only a ringing stillness.

  His calm affected the others: no one moved, even Pooch stopped breathing so loudly.

  Marvo tilted his head back slightly after Boss removed the golden pendant from his neck. His head was still throbbing with pain, but something about the question stripped away his defenses. He looked into the man’s face and said quietly, tightly, but directly:

  “Dead.”

  A second of silence.

  “Long ago…” he added for some reason. As if he wanted the man to know. To understand: everything he had was gone long ago.

  Boss pressed his lips together and nodded slowly. And said nothing.

  Ryan quickly walked off to the right, dissolving into the shadows where there was an opening — possibly leading into a kitchen. There, in the distance, Marvo could barely make out the outline of an old sink, peeling and dulled by time, coated with a film of rust. There were no cabinets — only bare walls and exposed pipes. Against the wall stood a large table covered with thick plastic sheeting, and scattered across it in chaotic disorder were some strange objects Marvo couldn’t make out. Whatever it was, it didn’t look like food preparation, but like preparation for something else… something darker.

  A minute later, Ryan returned, holding a bandage and a small bottle of alcohol. He didn’t rush, but he didn’t linger either. He approached Marvo without a word and carefully began treating the wound on his head.

  When the cotton swab soaked in alcohol touched the inflamed skin, still wet with blood, Marvo flinched and let out a quiet cry as a burning pain flared at the back of his head.

  “Shut him up,” Pooch growled, shooting an angry glare toward Marvo, but Ryan didn’t answer.

  He simply cast a cold, stern look at him — judging and threateningly calm. Pooch recoiled, as if he’d sensed a line that shouldn’t be crossed. There was something about Ryan that didn’t require shouting to make people fall silent.

  Marvo watched his actions, holding his breath. Ryan carefully wrapped his head with a tight, firm bandage, making sure it was secure.

  Marvo hadn’t expected this. After everything that had happened — the blows, the threats, the abduction — he couldn’t understand why this man had suddenly decided to help him. It didn’t look like an order. Ryan was acting on his own.

  He looked different. Not like the others. Fit, restrained. He wore simple trousers rolled up at the ankles and a sweater tied around his waist by the sleeves. He didn’t look like a predator.

  Marvo looked at him in surprise, even a little warily.

  “Why…?” flashed through his mind. “Why is he doing this?”

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  “Thank you…” Marvo said quietly, trying not to meet Ryan’s eyes.

  He didn’t answer. He only gave Marvo a light pat on the shoulder, almost friendly — a gesture that seemed to go unnoticed by the others. No more than a fleeting movement, as if he were simply checking how tightly the bandage was secured.

  A moment later, Ryan crouched down in front of him, and Marvo heard his calm, even voice:

  “All right, kid, talk. Where do you live, who are you, documents…”

  Marvo felt his throat go dry. He hesitated. For a few seconds, he just stared down, as if trying to gather what little strength and thought he had left. He understood that if he lied, it might provoke an outburst of aggression. And if he told the truth… he didn’t even know whether that would help.

  He took a deep breath.

  “Marvo… My name is Marvo, and…”

  He held his breath for a second, as if mustering his courage, then finished:

  “I don’t have a home. And I don’t have any documents either.”

  The last words came out dull, muted. Shamefaced. As if he were apologizing for his very existence. His voice faded, dissolving into the heavy silence of the room.

  Ryan didn’t reply at once. He just looked at him. Carefully. There was no judgment in his gaze. Rather — interest. And perhaps something else… a hint of understanding.

  “That can’t be… what luck!” Pooch laughed, looking at the others. “So it’ll be easy to get rid of him!”

  “I’ll get rid of you right now,” Boss said sharply and threateningly.

  The room froze for a moment. Pooch’s laughter cut off instantly, as if someone had strangled it. He slowly turned toward Boss, but Boss was already stepping closer, his face stone-hard, his voice steel-cold.

  “And who do you think you are here, huh? Making decisions?” Boss said quietly, but there was such a threat in that calm tone that even the most brazen of those present exchanged glances. “Maybe you’ll take my place in prison too, if it comes to that?”

  Pooch looked away and muttered something under his breath, but said nothing more.

  Marvo struggled to follow what was happening. His head was still throbbing, but even through the haze of his consciousness he caught how quickly Pooch shrank back before Boss.

  “Is he afraid of him too?..” flashed through his mind.

  Boss shot Pooch one last look, as if pinning him to the floor for good, then turned back to Marvo.

  “So you’re nobody, then…” he said slowly. “Interesting.”

  Boss looked at the boy again, his gaze long, appraising, almost indifferent.

  “If you’re nobody, then you don’t exist. You don’t exist at all,” he said quietly, as if drawing a conclusion for himself, and immediately, without changing his tone, added:

  “Ryan, get him out of here.”

  Ryan gave a short nod. He walked over to Marvo, crouched beside him, and deftly untied the ropes around his wrists. Marvo flinched involuntarily from the pain — his hands were numb and marked by deep impressions from the tight knots. Ryan carefully helped him to his feet.

  “Careful,” he said softly, supporting Marvo by the elbow.

  They went into the adjacent room. It smelled of dampness and stale air. The room resembled something like a prison dormitory: several old beds along the walls, without sheets, without pillows. No cabinets, no lamps. Only a small, dirty window near the ceiling, through which light barely seeped. Marvo lifted his head and realized — it was a semi-basement.

  “So underground. There were steps leading down…” he thought. “Unlikely I could get out on my own…”

  Ryan seated him on one of the beds — the springs screeched painfully under his weight. A minute later, the man returned with a dirty plastic cup of water, a piece of bread, and a few slices of carrot.

  “Here. Eat. You need it. I’ll be back later. Don’t do anything stupid,” he tossed out briefly and turned away.

  Marvo didn’t answer. He nodded silently, though his body was trembling from exhaustion and cold.

  The door closed behind Ryan with a dull metallic clang. Once, then twice more — the key turned in the lock, cutting Marvo off from the rest of the world.

  The room became almost completely dark. Only a dusty ray of light from the small window fell onto the floor beside the bed.

  “Not a life, but nothing but problems and obstacles… suffering,” Marvo thought, carefully chewing the stale piece of bread.

  He felt every crumb scrape his palate, how the water barely softened the dryness in his mouth. The hunger was not so much physical as accumulated — woven from exhaustion, fear, and anxiety.

  “This world… it’s as if it’s mocking me. As if someone is deliberately arranging everything so that I suffer again and again, fall over and over, and never get back up.”

  He slowly lowered his head onto his knees, pulling his legs up onto the bed. He wrapped his arms around them and curled into a kind of cocoon, as if trying to hide from everything around him.

  The room was quiet. But it was the kind of silence that made his ears ring. The kind that felt almost alive — breathing, watching, pressing down on his chest.

  Marvo took a deep breath, then another, and only then realized he had been holding his breath all this time. His throat tightened, and his chest grew heavy. Tears seemed to rise to his eyes, but he blinked and forced them back. He couldn’t cry — not now, not here.

  “Why?” The question spun in his head again.

  “Why me? For what? And how much longer?”

  He closed his eyes, trying, just for a second, to pretend that all of this was only a bad dream.

  Several hours later, the boy heard a key turn several times in the lock, and the heavy door slid open, letting people inside.

  Marvo instinctively propped himself up on his elbows, tensing as if preparing for something — though he didn’t know what. His heart pounded in his chest, and his gaze flicked from face to face. Boss stood before him — calm, cold, and resolute. Behind him, Ryan — expressionless, like a shadow. And in the doorway lurked Pooch — gloomy, subdued, but still dangerous, despite the way he now slouched, as if freshly reprimanded.

  “Look, kid,” Boss began, stepping closer and folding his hands behind his back, “you have two options. You’re already here, which means — you’re one of us… potentially. We didn’t throw you out for nothing.”

  He paused, letting the words settle in the air. Ryan continued:

  “You don’t exist anywhere. Not on lists, not in databases, not in any damn school records. To the state, you’re a blank. And we need someone like you. A silent ghost. A courier.”

  “And the second option?” Marvo asked in a trembling voice, feeling his insides constrict.

  Boss stared at him intently, then shifted his gaze to Pooch. Pooch, as if on command, stepped closer, slowly, as if being pulled by force. A knife glinted in his hand — curved, slightly rusted, but still deadly. He twirled it lazily between his fingers, yet the motion carried a threat.

  “Well, I think you understand it yourself,” Boss said quietly, finally removing his hands from behind his back.

  A heavy, viscous silence hung in the room. Marvo looked at Ryan — he stood restrained, expressionless. No malice, no sympathy. Just observation. As if waiting for a decision.

  Then Marvo shifted his gaze to Pooch — he didn’t hide his hostility. In his eyes: “I’d kill you without a second thought.”

  Boss, meanwhile, looked as if all this were nothing more than a business transaction. One choice — and he would forget the boy. The other — and the boy would become part of something bigger… or simply disappear.

  Marvo swallowed hard. His body ached, his mind was foggy, but he knew clearly — he had no real choice.

  “Damn it…” Marvo muttered quietly, almost a whisper, as if to himself.

  No one seemed to react. Or they pretended not to hear. Only Ryan slightly raised an eyebrow as he looked at the boy, but said nothing.

  Marvo slowly straightened up on the cot, clenching his teeth. He felt a shiver run through his body — not from fear, but from helplessness. Everything inside him screamed that he needed to run, fight, refuse to submit… but his mind told him this was a trap, and it had already snapped shut.

  He looked at Boss. He was waiting calmly. Not rushing him, not pressuring him. Just watching.

  Marvo lowered his eyes, exhaled, and asked hoarsely:

  “So… what do I have to do?”

  “Ryan will be handling you,” Boss said, then silently headed for the door. Pooch disappeared after him.

  Marvo studied Boss closely as he left the room. His gaze slid over every detail of the man’s appearance — every line mattered. There wasn’t the slightest hint of the brute harshness the others had. He was restrained, composed.

  Marvo noticed his style of dress: perfectly pressed trousers, a neatly buttoned shirt, relaxed yet collected posture, and a black watch on his left wrist that seemed like part of his very image. On his right ear — a black ring earring that looked almost out of place.

  Something about his eyes was unsettling. Blue and brown — uneven, merging into a single gaze. That detail stuck in Marvo’s memory. He looked like someone who could survive under any conditions. A man who had seen too much to be simple.

  The boy even thought that if he ever ran to the police for help, this would make a perfect composite sketch.

  Marvo abruptly lifted his gaze, meeting Ryan’s eyes. Ryan was already sitting on the edge of the bed rail, legs crossed, and seemed completely calm despite everything happening around them. His face showed no tension at all — only a faint smirk on his lips, as if he were reading the boy’s thoughts. Marvo felt his heart skip a beat and instinctively sensed that Ryan was far smarter than the rest. His words came quietly, but firmly:

  “Don’t even think about it. No one jokes around here — you’ll be dealt with quickly.”

  Marvo felt his body tense, as if he had just realized something important. Ryan seemed to be reading him like an open book. A sense crept in that this man could predict his next moves — or even stop them, if he chose to. That look, that confidence…

  The boy felt the growing anxiety squeeze his heart. He wasn’t ready to be in a position where every movement he made was under control. Now that Ryan had said this, it became clear to him that even thinking about escape or the police would only put him in greater danger.

  Ryan’s words reduced any thoughts of resistance to zero.

  “Just relax, Marvo,” he thought, trying not to let his panic break through.

  But in truth, the more he tried to keep himself together, the clearer it became: even if he did come up with something, it wouldn’t be that simple.

  Ryan shifted slightly on the bed rail and, tilting his head a little, began to speak:

  “Your job will be simple, kid. You’ll be handling the transfer of goods.” His voice was even, but there was a certain weight to it, as if every word were part of a long-established routine.

  He looked at Marvo, gauging his reaction before continuing.

  “All your work comes down to delivering the goods to specific locations and collecting the payment. Nothing complicated.” Ryan paused, his eyes never leaving Marvo. “The main thing is — follow the rules, and there won’t be any problems.”

  The boy tried to hide the confusion on his face, but inside he felt a tightening. He expected to be drawn into some dirty game, but his intuition told him he hadn’t yet seen the full picture. Questions swirled in his mind — questions with no answers.

  “What kind of goods?” Marvo finally couldn’t hold back and asked.

  Ryan only smiled slightly at the corner of his mouth, answering as if the question were nothing more than a formality everyone should already understand. His lips barely moved as he said:

  “You’ll figure it out when you see it. Just don’t do anything stupid, and everything will be fine.”

  After a few exchanges, Ryan finally stood and headed for the door.

  Marvo was left alone. He looked around, but everything surrounding him was both familiar and infinitely alien. No trace of freedom. Just this small room, the hard bed he sat on, and a growing number of questions in his head.

  He tried to focus on his thoughts, trying to understand what was happening, but for now, his mind was tangled. In one quiet moment, as the silence hung in the air, he realized something important: though Ryan wore dirty pants and a stretched-out t-shirt, he looked nothing like his appearance suggested. He was not like the others. His way of speaking, his calm, even his gestures and confidence — all of it said that this man was far smarter than he appeared. And most likely, far more dangerous.

  After several days, despite his difficult situation, Marvo began to get used to this new rhythm of life. Ryan taught him how to move around the city, showing him the proper way to carry out his work. Everything was simple and monotonous, like mechanical labor that could not be questioned.

  “Meet, handshake, money,” Ryan explained, and his words echoed in Marvo’s mind like a mantra, repeating day after day.

  Everything happened quickly, without unnecessary conversation or questions. Pure motion. And that, in itself, was frightening.

  They went to different parts of the city, often at night. Meetings with people who seemed as foreign and suspicious as he felt became part of his daily routine. Everything was automatic — short handshakes, quick transfer of a package with money and goods, and that was it. Sometimes a bus, seats in the back row, short stops, new money. Money, money, money.

  Ryan continued to stay close, showing him how to avoid threatening looks and how to follow the rules. He said the most important thing was not to stand out, not to ask questions — just to do the job and take his share.

  However, more and more often, when left alone after another night, Marvo found himself questioning his future.

  And then, on one of these outings, Ryan told him:

  “Try it yourself. I’ll be nearby if something goes wrong.”

  The man moved deeper into the park and completely disappeared among the shadows of the already bare trees. Marvo remained sitting on a bench, feeling a faint knot of nervousness in his stomach.

  He had grown so used to everything being planned out that now, when he was given freedom, he felt out of place.

  Time dragged on slowly. Around him was an ordinary city park: a couple of elderly people strolling along the paths, women with children playing on the playground, Poochs running across the green lawns. But all of it felt like it belonged to another life, not the one he was living now.

  Marvo looked around. Everything seemed normal, as always. Yet the sense of unease wouldn’t leave him. He tried to focus on the instructions echoing in his head like a cold, precise command:

  “A young guy will sit next to you. You hand over the package.”

  All he had to do was be ready for the meeting and the exchange. Quickly, without unnecessary words or movements. Just work.

  A little time passed, and he noticed a young man approaching. His figure took shape against the twilight of the park, as the sun had almost disappeared beyond the horizon and the sky was growing dark. It was the guy — thin, with a slightly restless look. He came up and sat down on the bench beside him without saying a word. Marvo silently handed him the package.

  The guy quickly gave him some money. There was something unusual about the exchange, but Marvo didn’t dwell on it. He stood up, thanked the guy with a brief nod, and headed toward the park exit.

  The strange feeling wouldn’t leave him, and he realized that perhaps this was the moment when he had to decide where to go next.

  Marvo stood at the edge of the park, still feeling the weight of the package in his hands. Mixed emotions churned in his head: on one hand, there was freedom, fleeting as it was; on the other, the harsh reality he found himself in. He knew he could turn back. He could find a place to hide and disappear from this world. But he chose not to run.

  He lifted his chin, as if trying to affirm his own decision. His steps grew confident, despite the storm raging inside him. He couldn’t allow himself weakness, couldn’t allow himself doubt. He moved toward where his life seemed meant to continue, giving himself no time to second-guess.

  He knew Ryan was waiting for him. Marvo didn’t think about the consequences. He simply moved forward, walking toward the man as if it were his only path.