Autumn was slowly claiming its ground. The morning was crisp, a light cool wind brushing against the skin and carrying the scent of fallen leaves and distant smoke. Beneath his feet, a golden-orange mosaic of foliage crunched as Marvo ran steadily down the empty street. He wore a dark athletic hoodie pulled over his head and comfortable sneakers that left faint prints on the damp asphalt.

  Music played softly through his headphones, blending with the rhythm of his breathing. He loved these morning runs — during them, his thoughts would fall into place, and his body felt alive.

  But the music suddenly cut off — a call. He frowned slightly and answered.

  “Yeah,” Marvo said, not slowing his pace.

  Boss’s voice was calm but firm:

  “Where are you right now?”

  “Out running. Near the old post office. About ten minutes from the base.”

  “Come back. I need you. Now.”

  A second of silence — and the call ended.

  Marvo immediately slowed down, pulled out his headphones, and shoved them into his pocket. His expression turned serious. He turned around and quickened his pace.

  He reached the entrance quickly, skipped a couple of steps at a time, went upstairs, and walked into the apartment without knocking. Pulling off his hood, he shook loose the autumn leaves clinging to it. He moved down the narrow corridor, where the smell of food lingered, and glanced into the kitchen.

  Spike was sitting at the table, eating straight from a pot. For once, he wasn’t brewing or hovering over flasks — just eating, looking surprisingly relaxed.

  “Where’s the Boss?” Marvo asked curtly, not dropping his serious tone.

  Spike didn’t lift his eyes, just nodded toward the darker end of the corridor.

  “In the office.”

  That was what they called the farthest room now — almost windowless, facing a blind alley. It looked more like a storage room than a workspace, but lately, it was where the important decisions were made.

  Marvo didn’t hesitate — he headed there, feeling that his breathing still hadn’t fully steadied after the run. Whatever Boss wanted, it definitely wasn’t a random whim.

  He pushed the door open and walked in without waiting for permission.

  “Boss, I’m here,” he said, taking a couple of steps inside.

  The room was dimly lit — a single ceiling lamp cast long shadows across the walls. Behind an old desk covered in papers and ash sat Yen. Beside him was Pooch, and a little farther off stood Pocket. The atmosphere in the room felt thick, almost viscous.

  The Boss spoke in a low but sharp tone. He wasn’t shouting, yet there was a threat in his voice. Marvo had long since learned to recognize that intonation — it was the one Yen used when someone had failed a job or forgotten who was in charge.

  Pooch sat opposite him, tense, fists clenched. He didn’t interrupt, but his expression showed he was barely holding himself back. Pocket avoided eye contact, clearly feeling out of place.

  Marvo froze by the door, not daring to interrupt.

  Boss didn’t even turn his head toward him — as if he wasn’t there. The boy quietly closed the door behind him and crouched down by the wall, trying not to make a sound. He knew that at moments like this, any awkward movement could draw unwanted attention.

  The conversation continued.

  “…if this keeps going, Pooch,” Yen said in a low, almost menacing voice, “I’ll have to send you to Livengard. You’ll keep an eye on our wholesaler. There’s too much noise, too many coincidences. I don’t like it.”

  Marvo slightly lifted his head.

  “Livengard? The capital. That wasn’t an ordinary assignment.”

  Pooch frowned but nodded.

  “I can do it. But why not Ryan? He…” he hesitated, searching for the right words. “It’s easier for him to blend into the city. He’s better suited for it.”

  Boss held his gaze for a moment; a shadow of irritation flickered in the corners of his eyes.

  “Because I said so. And if you want to question my decisions, you can walk out right now. Or better yet — start packing.”

  Silence hung in the room. Pocket shrank further into his chair. Pooch didn’t respond, only nodded slowly.

  Yen leaned back in his chair and finally shifted his gaze to Marvo.

  “Why are you sitting there like a mouse?” he said without much emotion. “Come here. We’ve got work for you too.”

  Marvo rose from his crouch and nodded quickly.

  “Yes, Boss.”

  He stepped closer, instinctively tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. There were no chairs left — they were all taken — but that didn’t bother him. He stood beside the desk, focused and composed, as if preparing for an exam.

  Boss wearily ran a hand over his face, exhaled, and began:

  “A man from Livengard will be arriving. One of those representing the interests of our new wholesaler. He’s not coming for a deal — he wants to see the product. Take a sample. Check what he’s dealing with. You’ll bring him samples of the latest batch of pills — the ones you and Spike cooked up last week. Clean, neat, no improvisation.”

  Marvo nodded.

  “Where and when? How will I recognize him?” he asked immediately.

  “Tomorrow. Morning. Around ten. A café at the intersection near the old station. He’ll sit at the third table by the window. Gray coat, black leather bag. Don’t ask his name, don’t give yours. Just hand it over. Understood?”

  Marvo nodded again, his gaze sharpening.

  “Understood. And if he starts a conversation?”

  Yen smirked and leaned slightly closer.

  “Smile and tell him you’re just the courier. Not a word more. You’re not a seller, not a chemist — you’re nobody. Remember that.”

  “Not a word more,” Marvo repeated, as if engraving the instructions into his memory.

  He felt the tension under his skin slowly turn into excitement. He’d been entrusted with something clearly beyond a routine delivery. That meant Boss had started to see something more in him.

  “You’ll pick up the pills from Spike tonight. He’ll prepare and package them,” Yen continued, glancing at Pooch. “Ryan will check the route, make sure there’s no tail. Everything has to be clean. No tricks.”

  Pooch gave a quiet grunt but said nothing. His gaze slid over Marvo — this time without the usual contempt — more like quiet acknowledgment. The boy was beginning to be seen as part of the core, not just some errand kid.

  Pocket, who had been sitting silently until now, lightly swung his foot and added:

  “If that guy from Livengard is who I think he is, it’s better not to ask any questions at all. He’s cold and twitchy. One extra word — and everything could fall apart.”

  Marvo nodded. He memorized everything. Every word, every glance. His face remained calm, almost indifferent, but inside, everything was boiling. This was something new. It wasn’t just about completing the task — it was about not failing in front of Yen.

  “You can go,” Boss finally said without looking up, already flipping through some papers. “And don’t forget: you’re just a courier.”

  Marvo turned and left, closing the door firmly behind him. For a brief moment, his fingers brushed against his chest — as if checking whether his heart was beating too loudly.

  Autumn breathed cold, damp air beyond the window. And inside Marvo, there was wind too — just a different kind. The kind that foretold change.

  He stepped into the kitchen, where Spike had already finished eating and was lounging carelessly in his chair, sipping something dark and bitter from a mug. He nodded toward the fridge, as if to say, Everything’s there.

  “Have you seen Ryan?” Marvo asked, reaching for the eggs on the shelf. “Where is he?”

  Spike lifted his gaze from the cup and shrugged.

  “Left like he was yesterday. Hasn’t come back yet.” His voice was lazy, unconcerned, as always when the matter didn’t involve drugs or direct profit.

  Marvo took a couple of eggs from the fridge, wondering where Ryan might have gone.

  He sent a short message:

  “Should I make lunch?”

  No reply came. Figuring Ryan clearly wasn’t in a hurry to return, Marvo didn’t wait and decided to cook for himself.

  He turned on the stove, skillfully cracking the eggs into a bowl and heating the pan. An omelet, a salad, a couple of toasted slices of bread — everything he needed to fill himself up.

  His mind swirled again with thoughts about the job, the new assignment, and of course, that strange pensiveness he had noticed in Yen’s eyes. No longer just a courier. This was a new stage, and although the tension hadn’t left him, Marvo tried to focus on what he needed to do now — eat, get some sleep, and be ready for tomorrow.

  When lunch was ready, Marvo sat down at the table. The only sounds breaking the silence were the crunch of fresh toast and the rustle of leaves outside the window.

  Marvo ate slowly, thinking about everything and nothing at once. Each bite of the omelet felt strangely heavy, but he tried to savor the moment. He felt himself withdrawing inward. The assignment was important, and he needed to be at his best.

  The toast and salad were gone quickly. Leaving the plate on the table, Marvo stood up, wiped his hands on a towel, and returned to his phone. Ryan still hadn’t replied, but just as Spike had said, he hadn’t been around much lately.

  He opened his messages and noticed a few from different gang members. None of the conversations contained anything particularly important, but one message from Yen caught his attention. Boss told Marvo to be ready in a couple of hours to head out and scope the location of tomorrow’s meeting.

  He glanced at the screen again — it was almost two in the afternoon. Time to get ready.

  Recalling every detail about the meeting, Marvo went to his room, changed clothes, and began packing his backpack for the trip. He made sure everything necessary was there: a couple of spare masks, several packages for the pills that were to be delivered.

  When he finished preparing, he sat down on the bed again. Images flashed through his mind — the meeting with the man from Livengard, handing over the samples, possibly having the product checked. It all felt like a thin line between danger and opportunity.

  Marvo let out a heavy sigh, pushing those thoughts deeper inside.

  ***

  Marvo and Pooch rode in silence, each absorbed in his own thoughts. The old station — a place long abandoned for its intended purpose — was unlikely to attract attention. But it was perfect for meetings, whether for trade or for covert operations.

  Pooch seemed to sense the same atmosphere. His face showed no emotion, but his eyes tracked every detail. Unlike Marvo, who wasn’t fully accustomed to moments like this, Pooch was used to these trips. He knew how to read a situation.

  They drove out of town, where the late-afternoon fog still hung thick in the air. The old station building stood before them, dimly lit, its brick walls looking long forgotten. As they approached, Marvo noticed Pooch beginning to scan the area.

  They sat down on a bench, and Pooch surveyed the surroundings first. His gaze was sharp and detached. When he turned to Marvo, the latter simply nodded, understanding there would be no room for mistakes here.

  “We can operate from here,” Pooch said, gesturing toward a far exit hidden from direct view of the main road.

  Marvo scratched his chin, studying the area. There were several escape routes: two entrances on opposite sides of the station and a concealed underground tunnel leading to the old warehouses. This was one of those moments when every movement mattered.

  If something went wrong, they would have to react fast — and for that, they needed to know exactly what to do and how to do it.

  “When do we get the signal?” Marvo asked, still scanning the area.

  Pooch turned again, surveying the territory, noting every detail. He was ready for any scenario, and his calmness carried over to Marvo. It was easy to be around him, though Marvo could still feel a certain tension in the air.

  “When he approaches,” Pooch replied, his voice calm as always, edged with quiet confidence. “He won’t keep us waiting long. But we’ll be ready.”

  They continued examining the surroundings, planning each step in case things didn’t go according to plan. Marvo knew this wasn’t just another day for him. But as always in this business, there was no room for doubt. Everything had to be precise.

  When Pooch finished his inspection, they headed toward one of the concealed entrances that led into a dark corridor. Marvo felt his heart begin to beat faster.

  Picking up his pace slightly, he continued studying the station grounds.

  “I thought I’d be alone,” Marvo said, not looking at Pooch as he inspected every corner of the place. “This is my chance to show I can handle things like this. My responsibility.”

  Pooch, walking beside him, slowed a little, as if considering his words. He looked at Marvo, his face revealing nothing. Emotionless, as always.

  “We’re all responsible for this job,” Pooch said calmly, without changing his tone. “It doesn’t matter which one of us is here. When it concerns the group, everyone has to be ready. Even if you want to do it alone, not everything depends on you.”

  Marvo stopped and glanced at him. He couldn’t quite tell what Pooch meant. Maybe he was just trying to say that loners didn’t survive here. But Marvo wasn’t ready to accept that.

  “I can handle it,” he said firmly, meeting Pooch’s eyes. “I don’t see the point in putting the group at risk. You know I can do this.”

  Pooch tilted his head slightly, as if analyzing his words.

  “Jobs like this aren’t that simple,” he replied, once again carefully scanning the area. “Things don’t always go according to plan. None of us can be sure it’ll stay quiet, even if you’ve thought of everything.”

  Marvo felt his confidence waver just a little, but he forced himself to stay steady. Pooch was right — it wasn’t the easiest mission. Still, he couldn’t allow himself to step back. He had to prove to himself and to everyone else that he was capable of handling it.

  “I’ll manage,” he repeated, trying to sound certain.

  Pooch gave a silent nod. He wasn’t convinced about Marvo’s resolve, but he knew it wasn’t his decision to make. All that remained was to watch.

  “Alright,” Pooch said, “But remember: if something goes wrong, you’re not alone. And you’re not supposed to do everything by yourself. We’ve got your back.”

  As they examined the dark corridor, they stopped — the way was blocked by chunks of collapsed walls and scattered stone.

  Marvo listened carefully to Pooch. The man raised a massive slab of concrete with his magic, handling the weight as if it were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. It was impressive — Marvo knew Pooch wasn’t just strong, but experienced, with knowledge that could prove invaluable in situations like this.

  “In 127 years, I’ve learned not to trust everyone who shows that much interest in the product,“ Pooch said, carefully lowering the concrete block to the ground and scanning the surroundings. “It could be a setup. We don’t know this buyer.”

  His voice carried quiet insistence, edged with caution.

  “And don’t forget — if someone’s that interested, it means there’s something we’re missing.”

  Marvo paused, looking around. He had thought this would be a routine job, but Pooch’s words made him reconsider.

  An unknown client…

  That alone raised questions. Marvo had been confident in his preparation, but now even he felt a flicker of unease. In their world, there were no coincidences.

  He froze. It didn’t even register immediately what Pooch had just said. 127 years? His gaze faltered for a second as he stared at the man. He looked about thirty — maybe a little older. But how could that be?

  “You… you’re serious?” Marvo asked, unable to hide his surprise. “You’re 127 years old?”

  Pooch glanced at him briefly, then the corner of his mouth twitched, faintly amused. After a moment of silence, he answered.

  “Yeah. I’ve seen and survived a lot, kid. But those years… they’re not always what you’d imagine. And if I’m telling you not to trust people too easily, you’d better listen.”

  Marvo nodded silently. He still couldn’t quite process the revelation. 127 years… It was unbelievable. But now, knowing who stood before him, he began to understand that Pooch’s experience and insight weren’t just the result of physical strength. This was a man who had moved through time itself — someone who truly understood how the world worked, and who was teaching him how to survive in it.

  “Got it,” Marvo said, a little more subdued. “We’ll be careful.”

  Pooch agreed, and they continued on. The assignment was becoming more mysterious and dangerous by the minute, and now Marvo had the feeling they weren’t just scouting a meeting point — they were brushing up against something far larger and more complicated.

  On the way back to the headquarters, Marvo couldn’t get Pooch’s words out of his head. Finally, unable to hold it in any longer, he spoke up.

  “Pooch,” he said, trying to mask his unease, “How is that even possible? You look so… young. You’re saying you’re 127 years old. How can you be that old and not look your age?”

  Pooch glanced at him and smirked.

  “Mages live about three centuries on average,” he said, ignoring Marvo’s astonishment. “It’s their natural cycle. I’m actually in my prime right now. I see more. I feel more.”

  Marvo fell silent. He hadn’t even known mages could live that long. He had always seen Pooch as experienced and strong — but now it all took on a different meaning. And he was still in his prime?

  Marvo looked at him again.

  “Three centuries?” he repeated, his voice full of disbelief. “You’re serious? And you’ve… lived through all that time, keeping that kind of strength and endurance?”

  Pooch simply nodded, his expression unreadable.

  “It’s not just physical strength, Marvo,” he said calmly. “It’s willpower. Patience. And, more than anything, the understanding that everything passes. All those years aren’t just time — they’re lessons. I’ve been through a lot. But I learned how to wait.”

  Marvo kept thinking about it. It all felt like something from another world. He listened to Pooch with fascination, and despite the man’s experience and knowledge, it was all so foreign and enigmatic that his thoughts wouldn’t settle.

  “Wait,” he began again, “you said mages live long. But what about… deviants? Do they live long too?”

  Pooch fell quiet. His gaze sharpened, as if carefully choosing his words so as not to reveal too much.

  “Deviants have abilities — not exactly magic — but their life cycle is like that of ordinary humans,” he explained. “They live to about a hundred, give or take. Their strength is unusual, though. It can grant heightened endurance, or the ability to manipulate natural forces — there are different types. But their lives are still finite, like anyone else’s.”

  He paused briefly.

  “Ask Ryan about it sometime. Or try digging through old books — you might find something there. Though information about mages and deviants is classified by the authorities.”

  Marvo tried to process the information.

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  “And mages are a special category,” Pooch continued at last. “Earth mages, like me, are long-lived. We can live up to three hundred and eighty years — sometimes even more. It all depends on strength and knowledge. Our bodies age slowly, and our powers only grow with time. We enter a different cycle — longer, more stable.”

  Marvo was stunned. It felt like an entirely different world, one that didn’t fit into his understanding of reality. With every word, Pooch revealed fragments of something vast and hidden — something Marvo had never even suspected.

  “Three hundred and eighty years?” he asked, still reeling. “So you’ll live for… a long time yet? That means you’re… in a completely different sense of time, aren’t you?”

  Pooch nodded, his face as calm as ever.

  “Exactly. That’s our path, Marvo. We live longer because our cycle is different. Mages, like the earth, follow their own laws. And if you want to understand them, you’ll have to walk a long road.”

  Marvo was overwhelmed. This was all entirely new to him. Even if some of it didn’t quite settle in his mind, one thing was clear: the world he had stepped into was full of secrets, and he still had much to learn.

  Suddenly, he couldn’t hold back another question.

  “What’s it like… to live that long?”

  Pooch slowed his pace slightly. His expression didn’t change — still calm, still distant. He didn’t answer right away, as if weighing the question. Leaves crunched beneath their feet as they walked down the street.

  “It’s not as simple as it sounds,” he finally said, his voice even, though tinged with faint weariness. “A long life doesn’t mean you just watch the world change around you. You start losing the people you loved. You lose those who could have been your friends, your companions. Every few decades, the world shifts — and you remain the same, aside from your growing power. You get used to loneliness.”

  Marvo looked at him differently now. Maybe it wasn’t a gift, but a curse — one that brought more pain than joy.

  “I always thought being long-lived would be… kind of amazing. You’d get to see everything, learn more than anyone else,” Marvo said, though his voice sounded less certain than he intended. “But you’re saying it’s not like that.”

  Pooch gave a faint smile — more a shadow than a real expression of happiness.

  “You’re not wrong, Marvo. It does seem amazing when you think about it. But with time, you realize a long life is less a privilege and more a burden. At some point, you begin to understand that life can be too long to hold a clear meaning. It becomes… gray. And even though you’ve lived through so much, much of it ends up feeling painfully empty.”

  Marvo tried to catch even the smallest trace of his feelings, any shadow of emotion behind his calm. It was harder than he had expected. To be like this meant facing trials he couldn’t even imagine.

  “But you don’t give up,” Marvo said, a hint of respect in his voice. “You keep moving forward, despite everything.”

  Pooch nodded, his eyes softening slightly, though they still held their sternness.

  “Yes, because in the end, what else is there? You either keep living, or you leave it all behind. I chose to live, Marvo, which means I accept the burdens of this path. I doubt you could manage it, but maybe one day you’ll understand that in a long life, it’s not the number of days that matters, but what you can do with them.”

  Marvo fell silent, lost in thought. He had never considered time with such depth as he did now.

  His thoughts didn’t leave him even in the evening, when he helped Spike gather materials for tomorrow’s cargo run. Every gesture, every movement seemed automatic, while his mind kept returning to the questions that had begun to haunt him on the way home.

  “What if I lived that long?” he replayed the question over and over in his head.

  He still couldn’t understand what it would mean for him. On one hand, it sounded like a chance to gain unimaginable experience, to see everything the world had to offer, to become someone important, someone whose decisions could change the course of history.

  But on the other hand… what if it were a curse? What if he lived so long that everything around him became unnoticed and mundane? How would he cope with losing those he came to love, as they all passed away while he remained the same? And how would he live when the cities where his favorite corners once were had long changed, familiar faces gone, and no one recognized him anymore?

  Marvo could find no answer. His thoughts jumped from one idea to another, as if searching for some kind of balance.

  “I could see the world, travel through the streets of different cities, watch people and cultures change… It would be a whole new world, each time unique. But what if, in the end, I just became a part of it, like an old shadow left on a wall, stripped of all its color?”

  He stood, looking around the room in confusion, feeling his thoughts tighten around his mind like grasping hands. How he wished he could find an answer to this question. How he longed to understand what it truly meant — to live forever.

  But for now, in this moment, another day lay ahead, full of tasks and new responsibilities.

  ***

  The morning was cold, but not enough to stop Marvo from walking. He moved quickly along the empty streets, barely noticing the world around him. From time to time, his gaze fell on hurried passersby or bright shop windows, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Only fifteen minutes remained until the station, and that moment was always tense. His fingers fiddled endlessly with the small earpiece, nearly invisible in his ear. Periodically, a hiss came through — an indicator that the line was connected, and Marvo was up to date on all changes. He was on the line.

  The black backpack slung over his shoulders wasn’t large. But inside was everything needed for the deal — the goods he had long come to think of as part of himself. He wasn’t new to this, so he didn’t worry; in fact, everything felt almost too familiar, almost mundane. His hands were comfortably tucked into his pockets, and his steps seemed to sync with his thoughts, which flowed in two directions: one following the route of the assignment, the other dwelling on life’s dead-end, where everything becomes known and predictable.

  Marvo knew he had to be careful. He couldn’t draw attention, couldn’t be noticeable. His appearance was so ordinary that no one would guess he was carrying something valuable in his backpack. He was just one of the many gray faces vanishing into the crowd. That was exactly how it had to be. In this world, there was no place for people who stood out too much.

  Minutes remained until the station, and Marvo quickened his pace. With every step, he drew closer not only to the meeting point, but to something that could radically change his life — or rather, the part of it he hadn’t yet managed to destroy.

  A voice came through the earpiece again — Boss’s voice. Calm, but with an undertone of urgency.

  “Pooch, readiness — three minutes. Ryan, is the area clear?”

  Marvo was surprised. He had thought Ryan wouldn’t show up, as usual, when it came to something requiring extreme caution. In recent days, he had noticed Ryan avoiding these situations, but now he was on the line. Perhaps something had changed.

  Marvo slowed slightly, listening to the whisper in the earpiece.

  “Is the area clear?” it could be a key phrase, signaling that now everything could truly go off plan. No fuss, no unnecessary noise, just cold-blooded execution.

  “Yes, Boss, the area is clear,” Ryan’s voice replied, and Marvo felt a flicker of unease. Something was off. Why had Ryan decided to check in? It had been simpler and more predictable when everyone stayed in their usual roles.

  “Good,” Boss said, as if reading his thoughts. “Pooch, move to the point. Ryan is monitoring the perimeter outside. Marvo, are you ready?”

  Marvo nodded, though no one could see. He walked toward the point where the buyer awaited him.

  Marvo slowed his pace but didn’t stop. Pooch’s voice came through the earpiece again, and this time it was insistent.

  “Stop, Marvo,” he said, and there was something in his tone that immediately put the boy on alert.

  He eased his speed slightly but kept moving. His thoughts were tangled, and a growing sense of unease gnawed at him.

  “What is it, Pooch?” Boss asked, his voice still calm but with a hint of tension. “Explain what you noticed.”

  There was a subtle strain in his tone.

  “Something’s wrong, Boss,” Pooch finally said. “He… he’s not alone.”

  Marvo froze, his heart skipping a beat. The earpiece went quiet for a moment, then Pooch’s voice returned.

  “He has escorts,” he said. “And they’re too close.”

  Marvo felt his resolve falter sharply. He immediately changed course, turning onto the nearest side street as instructed. The street grew busier, and with every step, he felt his attention sharpen, scanning every person, every movement around him. His instincts, honed over years in the gang, awoke.

  Boss continued giving directions.

  “Keep your distance, stay in crowded areas, don’t stand out. Ryan will be nearby. The exchange will happen regardless, but be ready for any outcome, Marvo.”

  “Understood,” Marvo replied, though his voice lacked its usual calm. Now, with the silence of the train station gone, he felt strangely exposed.

  He quickened his pace, crossing a pedestrian lane and passing several cafés, each surrounded by different groups of people. Time seemed to drag, and now, in the city center, every corner demanded attention.

  Ian’s voice came through the earpiece again, sharp and commanding this time:

  “Take cover, observe the reaction. Watch him closely.”

  Marvo glanced around, trying to hide his unease. Pooch was reporting that the client was behaving suspiciously, and now the situation seemed to be escalating. Passersby flickered around him, but his eyes sought out those who might be connected to the exchange.

  “The group has dispersed,” Boss’s next order came. “Monitor the client’s reaction. Don’t let him know you’re watching.”

  Marvo knew this was the moment to be at maximum alert. He kept moving, but now with noticeable caution. The city noise seemed louder, and every sound felt sharper, more threatening.

  “Just like Pooch said yesterday…Damn it!”

  Suddenly, after a few more steps, Ryan’s voice came through, signaling that the situation had worsened:

  “You’ve got a tail, Marvo. They’re keeping you in sight.”

  It hit him like a punch to the chest. Marvo quickly scanned his surroundings, and to his surprise, he didn’t see anything suspicious. But he knew Ryan sensed people far better than anyone else.

  “What do you mean?” Marvo replied, trying not to let his voice betray his unease.

  “This isn’t a routine check,” Ryan continued. “They’re definitely following us. Just don’t turn around like you’re sure you’re out of their line of sight.”

  Marvo looked around again. Sure enough, a group of people behind him had begun moving in the same direction. He tried not to panic, but his whole body tensed, instincts rejecting the threatening atmosphere. This was a moment when the slightest mistake could cost too much.

  “Understood,” Marvo said, continuing to walk as if nothing were happening. In his mind, he was already running through a plan to shake off the tail. He knew he couldn’t retreat.

  He tried to stay inconspicuous, but the footsteps behind him grew closer. His backpack, which had felt light a minute ago, now weighed like a stone. He realized the situation was critical.

  Marvo made turns, seeking hidden corners, hoping his pursuers wouldn’t notice. He had only a moment to act. Glancing back, he saw they had fallen slightly behind — but were still too close to allow himself any pause.

  He took a few steps toward a three-story building, froze, and then leapt. First, his foot hit concrete, then he grabbed a metal grate protruding from the wall. Instantly using it as support, he pulled himself up, gripping the bars tightly. Within a second, he was already on the second level, keeping his pace.

  Without losing a second, he made another move, jumping toward one of the ledges. Blocks on the facade, railings, and old metal structures offered perfect footholds. The roof was almost within reach.

  Marvo surged upward, landing on the edge of the building, and slid along its rim. He quickly surveyed the area. Below, on the street, his pursuers, unaware he had gone, were still running along the sidewalks.

  He crouched on the roof, knees pulled up. A light breeze brushed his face, and the world outside was shrouded in mist. He rested there like a shadow, blending with the dark tiles, feeling his breathing slow and calm.

  The boy listened to the footsteps below but kept his eyes on everything around him, not wanting to miss a single moment. Run or wait? For now — just wait.

  Marvo covered his mouth with his hand and whispered into the earpiece:

  “Looks like they lost me.”

  A moment later, Boss’s voice came through the earpiece:

  “Good work. Wait for further instructions.”

  He didn’t allow himself to relax too much. He stood, keeping his body in the building’s shadow, and slowly moved along the roof. The blocks and beams under his feet felt solid, and he moved cautiously, checking every step.

  When he reached the corner of the building, his gaze landed on a metal ladder hidden behind ventilation pipes. He determined he could descend it easily once he received the order. The steps looked sturdy, but he couldn’t afford to relax until he had precise instructions.

  Lost in thought, he surveyed the nearby area again, making sure everything was quiet. No one noticed his movements. He checked the earpiece once more — the signal was clear, and though his pulse quickened slightly from the tension, Marvo remained focused. Waiting was long, but he couldn’t afford a mistake.

  “Be ready,” he thought, calculating every step and possible move for when he’d be told to descend.

  He perched on the roof, his thoughts swirling around what had just happened. He tried to figure out what went wrong, and his only idea was that it could have been the police, that they had been exposed, and the operation had gone off plan. His mind raced through possible scenarios — from pursuit to a harsh arrest.

  But when Boss’s calm voice came through, ordering him to return to base, Marvo felt relief, though he still didn’t fully understand. Boss’s tone wasn’t alarmed; there was no panic in his voice — it was the usual command tone, too calm for a situation like this. And then Marvo realized that his initial theory about the police might have been wrong. Maybe they weren’t as close to blowing their cover as he had thought.

  He stretched, stood up, making sure everything around him was still quiet. The city noises, distant conversations. He pushed the thought of a potential tail aside. Now another task lay ahead — returning to base.

  When he entered the base kitchen, he noticed that everyone was already gathered. Spike, Pooch, and Boss were actively discussing what had happened, while Ryan stood slightly apart, silent and thoughtful.

  Spike was visibly agitated, his voice confident but edged with irritation:

  “That was the cops, there’s no other explanation! We need to get out of here as fast as possible if they’ve figured us out.”

  Pooch, standing with a cup of coffee in his hands, listened but didn’t agree with such a hasty conclusion:

  “No, they were more likely trying to get the goods for free and take the courier with them. They were after information, maybe just interested in the production. Everything was too calculated to be a coincidence.”

  Marvo watched each of them closely, but his gaze didn’t meet Ryan’s, who, as always, remained in the shadows. He had no idea what Ryan was thinking about what had happened, but his silence made it seem as though he was concerned about something.

  Then Boss, ignoring the debate, turned to Marvo with a short, direct question:

  “Did you notice anything suspicious?”

  Marvo felt the attention of everyone in the room shift to him. Answering wasn’t easy, as he was the only one who had seen the situation firsthand.

  He paused for a moment, trying to gather all his memories of the event. Everything had happened too quickly, too vaguely.

  “No,” Marvo said, trying not to let any worry show in his voice. “I didn’t see anything unusual, and there really wasn’t time to notice details anyway.”

  Boss frowned, his gaze focused, listening carefully.

  “Are you sure you didn’t miss anything?” Boss asked, raising his voice slightly.

  Marvo nodded, trying to sound confident, though inside he didn’t feel the calm he was attempting to show.

  Pooch shook his head and intervened again.

  “They didn’t have a clear plan. They weren’t professionals, as people might think. That’s why I still believe they weren’t cops.”

  Marvo felt the tension in the room start to build. It was a familiar feeling — something hidden and dangerous on the horizon. Spike, in turn, looked even more nervous.

  “We need to act before we get spotted for real,” Spike said. “If these weren’t cops, then someone else has the same goal — to take the goods, and maybe us too.”

  Seeing the rising tension, Boss raised his hand, calling for silence.

  “Alright, everyone, stop panicking,” Boss said, calm but firm. “All we can do is monitor the situation and prepare for the worst. And I don’t think we should jump to conclusions about who it was until we have concrete evidence.”

  Ryan finally spoke, his voice quiet but confident.

  “In that case, let’s be cautious.”

  “Exactly,” Yan added. “Spike and Pooch, exercise extra caution. We can’t afford to be exposed. Marvo, no moves for now.”

  Over the next week, Marvo didn’t go out on deliveries very often and devoted more time to working in the lab with Spike.

  Marvo stood at the table, arranging ingredients for the next batch of product, when a conversation between Ryan and Pooch drifted to him from the corner of the room. The voices were low, but Marvo, accustomed to listening, couldn’t help but catch their exchange.

  “This is the middleman,” Ryan was saying. “Looks like the one from that café. From what I can tell, his people operate in various fields, from trade to security, but something doesn’t add up. Maybe I’m wrong, but his group is too well-coordinated.”

  Pooch, expressionless, replied calmly:

  “Not easy to dig anything out, but you’re right — they’re not just ordinary buyers. They know what they’re doing. There’s a reason there were so many of them that day.”

  Marvo froze, trying to understand what this could mean.

  Spike, standing nearby, noticed his silence and winked:

  “Are you eavesdropping, Marvo?”

  Marvo smiled and glanced at Spike, but immediately, as if on cue, the conversation shifted. Pooch approached and stood next to him, showing sheets with printed photos.

  “Have you seen these faces around that day?” Pooch asked, his gaze sharp. “What do you make of them?”

  Marvo had seen countless people flashing past on the streets. All these faces blended into the flow of the city, yet somehow stood apart. Everything had happened so fast that he hadn’t had time to process it.

  “Maybe,” Marvo replied, thinking for a moment. “The people following me — they looked like security or something similar. They weren’t just random passersby. I’m not sure, but… there was something in their behavior that put me on edge.”

  Pooch nodded and gave a faint smile.

  “I thought so. Keep an eye out if you notice anything strange again. We can’t afford to miss a single detail.”

  ***

  February had been especially dark and damp. For weeks on end, rain poured relentlessly, leaving the streets wet and cold, as if the ground itself were sweating from worry. Snow never lingered — it either melted on contact or never reached the ground at all, giving way to miserable drizzle and raw wind.

  Marvo woke suddenly — not to an alarm, but to a muffled, desperate pounding at the door. The anxious silence of the pre-dawn hour still rang in his ears. The clock read 4:02. He instantly sat up in bed, his heart already racing. Damp air from the slightly open window hit his face, and the room felt unusually empty and cold.

  He bolted into the hallway, barefoot on the floor. The lights weren’t on yet, but dim, flickering illumination seeped from the depths of the apartment. A loud voice came from there — strained, almost panicked.

  “I’m telling you, damn it, I’m not a doctor!” Spike shouted. “I’m just… I’m just trying! Damn it! Hold it! Pressure!”

  When Marvo reached the source of the noise, the scene that met his eyes seared itself into his memory like a burn.

  In the entryway, on the floor, lay a man — unconscious, his abdomen literally soaked in blood. His jacket had been slashed with a knife, revealing a deep, ragged wound. Kneeling beside him was Spike. His arms were bloody up to the elbows, and his sweaty, distorted face pressed rags against the wound.

  “Damn, he’s bleeding… he’s just bleeding out, Marvo!” Spike gasped, looking up at him, eyes full of despair. “Where are the bandages? Where the hell are the bandages?!”

  Marvo didn’t hesitate — he spun and ran to the first-aid kit. Everything moved in slow motion. Pulse pounding in his temples, the smell of blood, the screams — all mixed with the dampness of the night, seeping into his bones.

  He didn’t yet know who was lying on the floor or what had happened. But he already felt it — the night was just beginning.

  Marvo acted as if his body knew exactly what to do. He barely heard any voices anymore, not even Spike’s — everything drowned in the roar of blood in his ears and ragged breathing.

  Bandages were useless. Blood poured too fast, soaking the cloth in seconds. He dashed to the table with reagents, where he usually worked with Spike on syntheses. He quickly scanned the shelves, pulled a vial of clear antiseptic — used for cleaning instruments — and a tightly sealed jar of powder.

  “Hope this works…” he muttered through clenched teeth.

  After splashing antiseptic on his hands, he was immediately at the body. Undoing the blood-soaked jacket completely, he poured the liquid directly into the wound — and with relief realized the patient didn’t even flinch.

  “Good… either unconscious — or already beyond it.”

  The liquid didn’t cause a flash of pain or burn the tissue — thankfully, it wasn’t alcohol-based. He quickly opened the jar of powder — a light grayish-white, almost ashen substance — and poured it directly into the open wound. It immediately began absorbing the blood, turning into a viscous mass, and within a fraction of a second, a thin film started forming along the edges.

  “Is this… a stabilizer?” Spike whispered, astonished, watching the process.

  “I don’t know,” Marvo replied, eyes fixed on the wound. “But it worked in the tests when we were cleaning… you know.”

  The bleeding slowed dramatically. Marvo quickly pressed a bandage over it, no longer worried that the cloth would be soaked instantly.

  The man on the floor was breathing — still weakly, but steadily. Alive. At least, for now.

  Marvo dropped to his heels, catching his breath, feeling his veins throb with adrenaline. He looked at Spike — he was still holding his hands over the man, unsure whether to move them or not.

  “Who is this?” Marvo finally asked, looking at the man’s face.

  “Ghost…” Spike exhaled. “Michael dragged him in. Said he’s one of us.”

  Marvo turned to Spike, his hands still trembling from the tension, but his voice sounded firm:

  “Where’s Boss? Where’s Pooch? Where’s Ryan?”

  Spike wiped his bloodied palms on the edge of his shirt, breathing heavily, as if only now realizing the full scope of what had happened.

  “Boss… he left in the night. Said he was meeting someone from the old partners. Pooch wasn’t with him — he left earlier in the evening, silently, as usual, didn’t say where. And Ryan…” Spike hesitated, casting a quick glance toward the door. “Ryan sent Michael home to his family. No one explained anything to me. This guy just showed up at the door with Michael, covered in blood… and…”

  Marvo frowned, lowering his gaze to the motionless man.

  Then Ryan appeared in the doorway. His steps were heavy, his expression wary. He scanned everyone in the room, lingered on the bloodied body, then exhaled and spoke as if he’d been holding back a storm all this time.

  “This is a warning,” he said, stepping closer. “Someone has found us. Someone figured us out, and this…” He nodded toward the man on the floor. “…this is the message. Ghost didn’t come on his own. He was sent so we’d understand: the game has changed.”

  He spoke calmly, but tension laced every word, as if each one required effort.

  “The client from Livengard… or someone close to him…” Ryan continued. “They’re not just angry. They’re dangerous. And now they know where we are.”

  The conversation had dragged on. A heavy silence hung over the room as everyone tried to process what they’d just heard. Boss still hadn’t appeared, Pooch was nowhere in sight, and no one knew what to do next.

  Suddenly, Spike’s voice broke the quiet.

  “Hey,” he croaked, drawing everyone’s attention. He was sitting next to Ghost, pressing a rag against his side. “He’s not breathing anymore.”

  Marvo spun around sharply. His heart clenched.

  “He’s gone,” Spike added softly.

  The silence that followed was different — deep, dense, like ash. And it changed everything.

  The night became an endless flow of tension and urgency. Sleep was impossible — not because anyone didn’t want it, but because it wasn’t allowed. Everyone moved as if on command, eyes empty, throats tight.

  Marvo helped pack up, tearing clothes off nails, gathering tools, shoving reagents into bags, barely feeling his fingers. Everything was done in haste, between short phrases and nervous glances at the windows.

  Ghost was wrapped in heavy cloth and packed away as if he were just another piece of cargo. Only this cargo was heavy not because of weight, but because of what it was.

  “You’ll help with the body,” Ryan said quietly, barely looking at Marvo.

  Marvo simply nodded. There was no time for “why” or “how.” Everything inside him had already dulled.

  Twenty minutes later, they were driving through the darkness out of town, winding along back roads. The car shook, the cabin filled with silence, broken only by raspy breaths and the rustle of cloth.

  The forest they reached felt alien — wet, dark, silent. Dampness hung in the air, soaking their clothes, but no one complained.

  “Here,” Ryan said, stepping out of the car and turning on a flashlight.

  Marvo followed, and together, breathing heavily, they dragged the body into the depths of the woods. Branches lashed their faces, mud squelched beneath their feet. It felt like they walked forever before Ryan finally stopped.

  They dug. Long and silent. Their fingers ached; the wet earth resisted. At some point, Marvo stopped feeling alive — the whole scene was unreal, like a dream where he just performed actions without understanding why.

  When the grave was ready, they carefully lowered the body in. Ryan stood over it for a long time, as if recalling something or fighting with himself. But he said nothing.

  Marvo glanced once more at the dark grave and turned away. The journey back was even harder. The forest seemed unwilling to let them go.

  From that moment began the six most dreadful months Marvo could never have imagined, even in his darkest thoughts.

  Every two weeks — a new spot. A new house on the outskirts, a new street, new neighbors better left unknown, who, in turn, made no effort to know them. All they could do was disappear like a shadow before anyone could notice them.

  Novoel was vast, and at the same time — tiny. They started moving ever further into the city’s forgotten corners, where roads hadn’t seen repair in years, streetlights flickered weakly, and houses looked abandoned even before they were finished.

  Surveillance cameras became their eyes. Boss personally organized the network, and now every corner around each new hideout was monitored. Shifts ran on schedule. Daytime — production, preparation, deliveries. Night — silence, waiting, and fear.

  Marvo felt broken. He tried to pull himself together, to act, to keep up. But deep inside, something was off.

  Blood. He couldn’t see it — but he felt it. On his hands, on his wrists, between his fingers. Even days after that night. He washed his hands until they ached, yet it was still there — in memories, in dreams.

  Sometimes he woke up screaming, gripping the sheet as if trying to escape from himself. Other times, he simply lay staring at the ceiling until gray pre-dawn light began seeping through the window.

  And even if no one spoke it aloud, everyone knew — after that night, the gang had changed. And so had Marvo.

  Winter gradually turned to spring. The air carried more and more the scent of rain and freshness, though the months they had endured left no trace — everything was shrouded in fatigue and cold indifference.

  Each day bled into the next. Work ran on autopilot. Time was no friend, but a reminder that there would be no peace in their lives anymore.

  Marvo no longer felt human, but something in between. He walked, carried out orders, but felt alien to himself. He knew he had been different once, had dreams, had been someone else.

  But that life — was no longer his.

  In the evening, after another shift, he returned to their secluded hideout. In the kitchen sat everyone, as usual — Boss, Spike, Pooch, Ryan. Only this time there was silence, as if they all knew something was about to happen.

  Marvo sat at the table, glancing at everyone for a moment before his eyes fell on the window, outside of which darkness was growing. He didn’t know what would come next, but he knew one thing — he could no longer remain in this circle. Sooner or later, he would have to choose.

  The curtain was falling, and ahead lay only dark space, full of questions that had yet to find answers.