*Mia's P.O.V*

My chest pounds louder. My fingers shake around the screen. Lowering my phone, I feel tears pool along the rims of my eyelids. They fall unto my hand like rain.

I exhale. He doesn't like me like that.

It's time I woke up and knew my place. To him, I'm a pal, nothing more.

A new day marks day one of not fooling myself.

I am about to pack when Reindorf's colleagues troop in with what feels like bad news.

I enter the hallway to eavesdrop, but Reindorf catches me.

"Mia, can we talk?"

"Sure."

So I follow him to his study, where he mutters, "I hope their presence is not bothersome."

"If it's necessary, I don't mind." I sit across from his desk. "What happened?"

"Someone called to inform us that they suspect some folks of trading illegal substances in their neighbourhood. They told the police, but nothing was done about it, so they called us."

"Oh, corruption."

He nods like that's the least of his worries. "My men are here to protect you while I'm out. You can go back once the rescue mission is done -"

"She should come with us," a feminine voice butts in.

Turning, my focus shifts to a bulked woman stationed at the door, arms folded to display several tattoos.

Her bushy brows cock as she speaks. "She's a Yeltsin, no?"

"She is a civilian."

"And a Yeltsin?" The woman's fiery eyes switch to me. I gulp. Reindorf and the woman make eye contact longer. I can tell he has conceded defeat by the time he reverts to me.

What is going on?

*

I am in a van full of training heroes. The woman keeps her eyes on me while everyone else prepares their weapons.

As the vehicle parks, I look out the window. Reindorf barks orders for them to disperse.

"Recognise it?" The woman's gaze shifts between me and Reindorf.

Before I confirm not to, a foul stench stings my nostrils. I get out of the van after them, jumping onto a land of desolate graffitied huts. As everyone diverges into different huts, I trail the foul air with Reindorf.

"This way." He takes the lead. I really should not be here - my sixth sense rehashes this as soon as he breaks the doors of the hut we suspect the smell to come from.

Blood and mud stick to the floor, welcoming us to a room full of tables. Blood is even spilt on the measuring scales, money-counting machines, and empty chests. A cornered drum steals our focus as the woman says, "Must have been a cartel clash. What is that?"

"Call Simon." Reindorf steps back. The Simon in question appears in a blink, probably to check if there's a bomb in the drum.

Reindorf, the woman, and I wait outside, with the two in a deep conversation, to notice what I am seeing.

"Reindorf!" I slap his arm. "Look! Look! Someone is running!"

"Where?"

"Shit, he's gone." Then, I see him again. "There! THERE!"

The woman shoots. The runner almost falls, adrenaline refuelling his pace on the second shot. All are hot on his tail.

"Stay here!" Reindorf shoves a gun in my hand. His female partner, however, tugs me into the pursuit.

I halt her to point out the obvious. "He should have escaped by now."

"What?"

"He should have escaped unless there's something he can't leave without."

She frowns. "What and where?"

"He looked left, a little further, past the fifth hut."

Much to the woman's doubt, we wind up in the sixth hut. Finding a vent, she carries me into it before slipping in expertly. "You better be right, Yeltsin."

"Stop calling me that."

"Shh!" She covers my mouth. I can hear them - the runner's sneakers squeaking against the cold. His pants grace my ears before he enters. He rips a part of the wall to eject a backpack. He spills its content over the desk right above us, so we see a stack of Polaroid pictures, a chequebook, three plane tickets, three passports, and several packets of blue pills.

He slaps himself and refills the backpack with all except the pills.

"Freeze!"

Our woman jumps out of the vent. It takes me longer to get down, but by the time I lock eyes with the runner. He doesn't freeze. Before I can block the door, he pushes me aside like I'm paper, leaving me to grab onto the backpack. I manage to grip his arm, though he's going too fast. He slips, and I fail to register how soon he recoups strength. Suddenly, he's five miles away. I don't have his speed. What I have is a gun.

"Stop, or else I'll shoot!" I scream, aiming for air to scare him. The runner tilts within a second, causing the bullet to slide past him, straight into the unfortunate soul behind him, Reindorf.

Reindorf falls. I rush to his side while the woman captures the runner.

*

Nothing is more chaotic than the hour we rush Reindorf to a hospital. The woman has to silence her colleagues before throwing an annoyed look at me.

"Who asked you to shoot?!"

"I panicked." My gaze drops.

"And you are a terrible shooter too?! How can you miss -"

"What are you? A narrator?" One colleague intrudes. "Stop stating the past. The girl was just trying to help."

"Who even agreed to bring her?" Another colleague stares at me.

The woman answers, "Reindorf thought she'd know the place since the land belongs to her family."

Na, it's you.

"She's a Yeltsin?"

I can't deny it, as the colleague sees the woman's affirmative response first. It's pointless trying to look any less guilty now. I turn my attention to Reindorf in the backseat. His thigh is bleeding despite his bandage. I'm glad we reach a hospital two minutes later. I'm willing to stay while the others return to their mission.

Fortunately, Reindorf did not lose a lot of blood. His doctor lets me see him the next day. I'm still the only one here, but Reindorf doesn't mind. Heck, he acts happy to see me.

"Mia!"

"I'm so sorry."

"What? Forget it." He makes a dismissive gesture. "We got the guy. That's what matters. Has Shiela interrogated him?"

"Yes." I store the woman's name.

"Ok?"

"Urm, ya, she said the guy was a batch kid. You know my uncle, well...when the batch kids get older, he makes them his guards, letterboys and drug dealers. The boy and his 'co-workers' were planning to travel somewhere and start afresh, but they got gunned down. Some died, and some have been captured by who knows who. The guy couldn't tell who attacked either. He was the only one left behind."

"Hm." He grimaces. "So the Yeltsins trafficks kids, and as if that is not traumatising enough, they make them drug dealers, murderers and the like?"

"Mhm. And to think it's still happening after Igor's death."

"You can't expect an entire criminal organisation to collapse because of one person's demise." Reindorf sits up.

I nod. "Ya, but it's good to destroy the source, the leader and let disorder evoke the further annihilation of their system. Igor died. If the source, that is, my conglomerate family and their cover of a legal brand, was in shambles -"

"I doubt targeting them right off the bat is a rational strategy, Mia."

"They are just wealthy. Anton will win the CEO position and take it all."

The look Reindorf makes is anything but in agreement. He fiddles with his drip, blinks cautiously at the door and sighs.

I make a 'what is it?' face.

"Is he the only one after the position?"

"Well, there is Pamela. My Granny would rather chew her foot than let her win, though."

"And this Pamela woman is dangerous, isn't she?"

"You have no idea!" I gasp. "She's been trying to kill the entire family since. She killed Igor, Desi's parents, the guy Joe married to become the interim CEO, and then she tried to kidnap Desi. Honestly, I can't wait to deal with her ass."

The 'ass' part makes Reindorf chuckle. "How?"

"I'll figure it out. Oh, that reminds me. I have some boxes with evidence against her and other stuff."

"Where?"

"Back at Charlie's."

He smiles. "Let me get someone to pick them up so you can go home directly."

"That's not -" I pause, remembering that Charlie has a girlfriend. "Actually, ya, thanks. What about the entourage thing?"

"When the auction time is near, I'll fly you with me. You should go home now."

*

*

*Charlie's P.O.V*

Mrs. Palviokinsky is dead. Mr. Palviokinsky had a seminar in London yesterday. Afterward, he was about to visit me when he heard the news and fainted. The doctors tried to reach his family, friends, or anyone at all. No one answered. Except for me.

That's what his bodyguard raps out the moment I come.

"Ho-how?" I gasp. "How is she dead?"

"Fell off the stairs."

Ok, that's not what I was expecting, but it's still horrible. I enter Mr. Palviokinsky's room to find him asleep. The poor man looks so pale. Leo and I stay overnight, and we give our condolences when he wakes.

"Leave," he retorts. Leo chuckles at that while I approach the father. He eyes the wheelchair. "Looks like the rumours were right."

"I'm not a drug addict, and as you can see, I have two legs." I get up to prove it. "I am sorry for your loss, Sir."

"Loss?" He laughs - it's the dry kind that diffuses nostalgia into the air. Leo joins my side, his eyes wandering the face of the old man.

"The both of you, what are you doing here?"

"We will take care of you," I say.

"I don't need to be taken care of. Now go away before I call my bodyguard."

"Go ahead." Leo crosses his arms. I sneak a grateful glance at him because if not for me, he won't even be here. He's got his issues to deal with. He won't leave without me, so I won't bother making that request. I watch him watch Mr. Palviokinsky with a sigh before returning to his seat.

"Sir." I pat Mr. Palviokinsky. "Get more rest."

Reluctantly, yet inevitably, he obeys. We end up visiting until the doctor says he's good to go. His discharge appeases Leo enough to make him drive us to the airport. On our way, however, I glimpse a beach and suggest that we stop.

Mr Palviokinsky agrees nonchalantly. The beach air is cool and fun, a whole new world away from the muted hospital walls that held grief in its bosom. We find chairs and sit for a while. I pull out my crocheting tools, to which the old man snarks.

"What in the world are you doing, boy?"

"A hat. I'm almost done." I smile at him. "Do you want it?"

"It's yellow." His head sinks. "Her favourite colour."

"Oh." I don't know what to say. Thank goodness Leo takes the reins in our conversation by commenting on some surfers. We get some drinks and watch until Leo says his legs are getting cranky, so we should walk.

We stroll until evening comes, and the realisation that the flight time has passed sinks in. We find a hotel to spend the night.

*
*

"Leave me alone!"

"Oh, come on -"

"PLEASE! Igor, agH-PLEASE!"

He doesn't mind. He doesn't care. He beckons his 'pals' to join him. My eyes flutter to see familiar faces all around me. The Yeltsins, Pamela, Leo's dad, Jackson, Berry, Mr. Joe, the Adiantes. The living ones watch as the dead drown me in blood. Leo's dad keeps providing more buckets of blood. Whose blood? I try to lift my head to see, but Maestro pushes it into the blood. My upper body is immersed, while the lower half is bare for Igor's pleasure.

Blood is entering my mouth, my nostrils, my ears...it's everywhere. I can't open my eyes. I can't breathe. But I can feel Igor, and for a split second, I feel a switch to Maestro. He uses a pencil, and it hurts. If I cry in agony, I'll gulp blood. Whose blood?

I feel another switch - Berry. He's gentler. A blunter pencil. I can hear a camera. I can hear someone call my sister beautiful. No. No. I need to save her, but I can't move. They are still holding me in the blood. Whose blood?

With all my strength, I push my head up enough to catch a glimpse. A dead body drains blood into the bucket. It's up. It's on the ceiling, but it's not falling. It's Mia -

"CHARLIE, WAKE UP!"

Suddenly, I feel a hand pull me out. I gasp for breath, eyes widening at Leo.

"Nightmare?" He sounds terrified. At the door, Mr. Palviokinsky watches with a grim face. I look between them, speechless.

"Charlie!" Leo grabs my chin. "Are you ok?"

"... Yes."

"No." Leo's eyes sadden. I blink, and he tilts his head towards Mr. Palviokinsky. "Can you give us a minute?"

So he disappears. Leo's gaze retreats to me as I say, "It's the same old thing."

"That doesn't make it any less bad." He holds my hand. "Charlie, you need help."

"I'm fine."

"I'm taking you to -"

"I AM FINE."

Why am I shouting? Leo doesn't flinch, somehow, but his nostrils flare.

"What is wrong with you, Charlie?"

"Nothing." I calm myself. "Just go to your room."

"So, what, we are not going to address any of the fucking -"

"Language -"

"Bullcrap that has been in your head -"

"Leo, language."

"Shut up!" He busts. "Shut the fuck up, and listen! We've had this argument over and over, and you never listen. Are you trying to drive me insane?!"

"You don't have to be here, Leo." I get up. "If I'm disturbing you, you can leave. You have your challenges, anyway. Focus on -"

"Get back here." He pulls me back. I glare, but then his voice softens to compensate for his harshness, a mumble rumbling from him. "What happened?"

"I don't think I can describe the nightmare-"

"What. Happened?"

Oh... I clutch my heart. It skips a beat at the thought of Leo having seen the video.

"Charlie?"

"Hmm?" There's no way he has seen it, though, right? We had a confrontation before -

"Charlie!"

"Oh my goodness, Leo, I'm fine. I was assaulted and buried alive, and by God's grace, I'm alive, so why - why do you want to dwell on the past?"

"It's not about dwelling on the past. It's about healing." His shoulders fall. "You hadn't even healed from what Berry did to you, and then Igor came along, and now, this fucking cartel, and-and who did it? I need a name."

"It doesn't matter -"

"A. Name."

"Mastro."

"That's ... the gangsta whose life you saved?" He grimaces. "Huh?!"

I wince.

He shuts his eyes. "If you don't let me get you some help, I'll kill him."

What?

He's joking, right?

I perk a brow at Leo, hoping he'll cackle or something, but, no. This boy looks me dead in the eye.

"Leo." My skin crawls, remembering when he made a threat like this and fulfilled it.

"Leo, is that a joke? It's not funny." I clench his wrist. "Leo. Leo! What about your kid -"

"I have said all I have to say. You can take it seriously or not."

"That is crazy. You can't -"

He breaks free. I stare at him till his back disappears behind my door, a loud bang concluding our talk.

What do I do the next day? Get a group. Mr. Palviokinsky's bodyguard recommends a place for me to take his boss. Leo drives us there aftershock Mr. Palviokinsky and I stroll around the apartment-turned-sanctuary-for-the-depressed- depressed.

"Never give up." Mr. Palviokinsky reads a poster. "Huh. Sure."

We get lost, and it takes a kind old lady to direct Mr. Palviokinsky to the grieving group, whereas I'm sent to the sexual assault victims' support group.

All women.

"Hello, sweetheart. Come on in," a lady in a halter top and goofy headbands smiles. I take it that she's in charge. Nodding, I find a seat, avoiding glances.

"We were just introducing ourselves so you can go after the person on your left."

"Ya, hi," says the person waving. I wave back.

*

These women have very, very awful stories. As they narrate them, I can't help but be mesmerised by their bravery.

It's nowhere near my turn, yet I'm considering declining to speak when the door bursts open.

Suddenly, Mr Palviokinsky marches up to me. The women watch the debacle of him tugging me out of the building. We hail a taxi.

"That place sucks," he groans inside the taxi. "How can you tell me such nonsense?!"

"What did they say?"

"That my wife possibly fell out of love with me. Some nosy bitch whose father died last year. She thinks she can say whatever because we are supposed to pity her?! Fucking bitch."

"Ok, no to that language." I exhale, leaning into the backseat. "What did you say before that comment was made?"

There's a pause.

"It doesn't matter." He groans.

At this point, the truth is eating my heart out. I look away, inhale and say, "Let's go to a farm."

"What?"

"You can teach me to grow something." I grin.

The old man looks at me as though I have grown two heads. If that's the case, one must be longer than the other, considering that I have more ideas. "Oh, and we can play chess, go to a library, then the beach -"

"Boy, this is not an excursion."

"But it'll be fun!"

"Where do you get all the energy to be yelling like that? I don't see you eat." He chuckles.

Our excursion begins with a trip to his friend's farm. He explains how he grows his berries and then diverges to other plants before we get to the dirtwork. By noon, my trousers are dirtied, and we are settling on his pal's balcony. I sneak away while the two chatter. Heading to a room, I wash up and head to the kitchen. There are a few snacks, but I think the pie would be a better surprise. I won't be able to finish it without him noticing, so I seek help from the maids around.

"Where have you been?" He inquires once I return. I lie that my stomach is upset, sitting behind the old friends as they hover over a chess game.

Of course, Mr. Palviokinsky defeats his friend, who says, "Aren't you going to play with the boy next?"

"No, you play with him."

"Scared to lose?" I smirk.

He rolls his eyes. "Familiarity truly breeds disrespect. Look at how he's talking to me now."

"Palvio, you seem scared," His pal jests.

"Ok, that's it." He hits the table. "Sit down, boy."

"Thank you."

"You're not welcome."

Do I win?

Yes. Thankfully, the pie is ready to assuage him by then. We all eat while playing again, feeling relaxed as the day ends.

"It tastes like your wife's cooking. That reminds me, how is she?" his friend comments.

"Good." Mr. Palviokinsky replies almost sadly. Almost. It's like he doesn't want to cry in front of his friend. Or me.

Our next stop is the beach. Despite it being late, I insist. I even ditch my wheelchair, much to his fright. Even when I assure him I don't feel much pain, he says, "Well, if you fall, I won't be able to pick you up. I'll just leave you here for the sea to take you away."

"Oh." I gape, only to say, "It's not a bad way to die, though."

"What?"

"Ya, but, like-" I halt. "Like, I'd try to survive so... it'd be better if I took sleeping pills and, I'll be sleeping and the sea will just whisk me away -"

"Are you ok?" He cuts me off.

I pout. "Oh, but it's a nice way to go. Oh and I can be wearing my favourite clothing too, like -" I pull out the crocheted bucket cap I made.

Instantly, he snatches it for his bald head, saying, "You are not dying any time soon."

"How would you know?"

"You'll see." That's his response. I follow him to the rocks. We settle on one and eat the rest of the pie while watching the waves. I think of checking Leo's missed calls, though my hands won't bother.

Finishing his plate first, Mr. Palviokinsky asks, "My wife taught you?"

"Yes."

"Hm."

"You loved a lot." I wipe sand off my shirt. "I can tell."

"What do you know about love?"

That's a question. I meet his squinted eyes, unsure. An answer crosses my mind when I look at the sky. "Love looks out for its own. Love is patient and kind. It's not self-seeking, not jealous -"

"I would have to disagree with you on that one." He says, "I'd be very jealous if I saw her with another man."

Hm, Anton, what you did...

"Anyways, we should get going." Mr. Palviokinsky stands. I follow suit, albeit begrudgingly. The wind feels calmer and sweeter by the minute.

"Wouldn't it be nice to get a house by a beach?"

"You want to freeze to death? Be my guest."

Shaking my head, I take my jacket off to cover his shoulders. He calls a driver.

*

This is our final stop - a library. He tells me he'll have to go home tomorrow, to which I inquire if he wants me to attend his wife's funeral.

"My kids will be there," he replies, knowingly.

"Oh... you are aware Pamela has been trying to kill me?"

"Yes."

My jaw drops. He sighs. "She wouldn't try that at her own mother's funeral."

"But." My breathing quickens. "You know what she's been doing?"

He looks down. "Yes."

I don't know how to feel about this. We are in a public library, between shelves of historical fiction, and the last thing I want to do is panic. I shouldn't be this surprised. "How can you live knowing what a horrible person she is?"

He flinches.

I frown.

He better respond.

He responds, "I... I tried. I did right as a father." He clasps his hands. "As a husband... well, when you get married, you'll see what it's like."

My head shakes. "I'm never getting married."

"Pardon me?"

"Those things are not for me." I smile. "And that is fine."

"You are confused in life," is his reply before moving to another library section.

*

*

Mr. Palviokinsky is gone. To Russia, I mean. I see him off at the airport and return to an empty home. Twelve hours of sleep later, the bodyguard calls to let me know that,

"He missed the flight. He went to the beach. He didn't come back."