Natalie's pale fingers curled around the lining of the coat, grazing the cold shape hidden there.

  The man at the wall shifted his stance again. Not much, just enough to let his jacket fall open for a fraction of a second. She caught the glint — a holstered pistol, black polymer, worn grip.

  The 'security' by the door glanced toward the hallway, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. They were waiting for a cue. Something. Someone.

  Natalie’s mind ticked over the names Krol had spoken. Pan Nowak… the Asian man… spotted nearby. Kuroda.

  She took a long, slow breath. “Tell me something,” she said into the quiet. Neither answered. She kept her eyes on the floor, her voice low enough that they’d have to strain to hear. “Do you know what it feels like to be in a locked room with a rabid animal?”

  The one at the wall finally turned his head, his eyes narrowing just slightly.

  Natalie lifted her gaze. The faintest of smiles cut across her lips.

  “Because you’re in it right now.”

  The man at the door’s hand drifted closer to his belt.

  Somewhere below them, faint but sharp, came a sound — the pop of a gunshot, muffled through floors and walls.

  The two men reacted at once. Door-man’s head tilted toward the hallway. Wall-man stepped forward, fast.

  Natalie moved faster.

  Her hand snapped inside the coat, the gun clearing leather with a hiss. She fired once at the wall-man’s knee — not to kill, but to make him struggle to come after her. He collapsed with a choked grunt.

  Door-man drew — but she was already up, closing the space. Her second shot went into the doorframe beside his ear, splintering wood and making him flinch. Her boot slammed into the door, forcing it open.

  From somewhere downstairs came voices, heavy footfalls, and — unmistakably — Nowak’s laugh.

  Natalie didn’t hesitate. She stepped into the hallway, the smell of gunpowder in her wake, and moved toward the noise. Her legs carried her with a pace she didn’t remember deciding on.

  She wasn’t thinking about survival now.

  She was thinking about Kuroda.

  She was thinking about Casimir.

  Natalie kept moving, her gun steady in her hands, barrel low but ready. Her breath clouded in the cold air, her pulse a drumbeat in her ears. The hotel corridor stretched before her, lined with doors like a row of locked secrets.

  She risked a glance over her.

  Natalie kept moving, the gun a steady weight in her hands, barrel low but ready. Her breath clouded in the cold air, her pulse a drumbeat in her ears. The 2nd-floor club's corridor stretched before her, lined with doors.

  What are these rooms used for?

  She risked a glance over her shoulder. The uninjured man was crouched beside the other, his hands slick with blood, muttering in Polish, eyes darting to the wound and back.

  Good. They were occupied.

  Natalie quickened her pace, boots whispering against the carpet. Nowak wouldn’t stay busy forever. Once he saw the blood trail, once he put it together—

  She swallowed. There’d be no time for hesitation then.

  The fire escape at the end of the hall's large window caught her eye. Rust-colored metal stairs behind a smudged glass window. She could take it, vanish into the cold alleyway, circle around before anyone knew she was gone.

  But the sound of movement—a heavy footstep—came from below. Someone was already on the stairs.

  Natalie flattened herself against the wall, gun rising in a smooth motion. Her finger brushed the trigger, eyes sharp, breath slow. The footsteps drew closer, the faint clink of something metal—keys? cuffs?

  ***

  Kazou’s head throbbed. A rope bit into his wrists behind the chair, coarse fibers digging against skin gone raw. His legs were bound, too, the wooden seat creaking with every shallow breath.

  When he finally opened them, the light blinded him.

  Flick. Flick. Flick.

  Not daylight.

  A single, harsh bulb swayed above a pool table a few meters away, and the rest of what looked to be a garage was swallowed in shadows. Oil stains marked the concrete floor, and the air stank faintly of gasoline and cold metal.

  A slow clack. The sound of a cue ball hitting something.

  Kazou turned his head.

  Nowak stood there in a cream-colored jacket, sleeves rolled up, cue stick balanced in one hand. His pale, almost boyish face was lit from below by the green felt of the pool table, making his grin look waxy and wrong. His voice came out high and airy — almost playful.

  "Oh, look who's awake! The scientist himself! Casimir's creator! Dr. Kazou Kuroda."

  "H-how do you know me?"

  "Sh. Im asking the questions here. Not you."

  ***

  Every muscle in Natalie's body tightened. She couldn’t be caught in a bottleneck. Not here. Not with Nowak so close.

  She stepped back, scanning for another exit. A service door, half-hidden by a cleaning cart, offered a narrow path into the guts of the club. Somewhere dark. Somewhere to disappear.

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  Natalie slipped toward it, her grip on the pistol still tight as ever. Behind her, she could still hear men downstairs—their voices low, tense, unaware they’d just let their prey slip away.

  Natalie ducked into a side hallway, moving quickly but controlled. Her mind was already mapping the building: the staircase she came from was no longer an option—Nowak’s men would flood it within seconds. That meant another way down.

  Footsteps thundered from the stairwell once more. Closer this time.

  A man in a grease-stained jacket barreled toward her, his face red, eyes wide with rage. “You were told to stay in the room!” he roared, his accent sharp, spitting the words like they were bullets themselves.

  She took a step back, leveling the pistol with both hands. “Stay where you are!”

  But he didn’t. He ran harder. His right hand dipped under his coat and came back with steel—black and oily in the dim light.

  Her ears caught the sharp scrape of his boots on the cracked linoleum.

  Natalie’s mouth was dry. Her heart screamed to fire first, but her finger froze—hesitating for a fraction of a second that could kill her.

  The man shouted something in Polish, the words garbled by fury. He was less than five meters now, the barrel of his gun coming up.

  ***

  Kazou’s head hung slightly forward, every breath measured but shallow, as though each one cost him. The pain radiated all the way up into his ribs, where the car had slammed into him. The skin at his temple was split, blood trailing down and drying along his jaw. His glasses were gone, and without them his gaze was unfocused — yet still methodical, scanning every corner of the garage for something he could use.

  The only real light came from the buzzing fixture above the pool table. Its green shade cut a sickly halo over Nowak, who bent over the table with theatrical precision, the cue stick gliding between his stubby fingers.

  Thock.

  The sound was soft, almost polite. The cue ball rolled forward, kissed the eight ball, and sent it gliding into the pocket with an anticlimactic plunk.

  Nowak didn’t watch it drop. His pale, doughy face stayed aimed at Kazou, his small eyes glistening with something between amusement and contempt.

  “You know what I like about moments like this?” Nowak said, leaning on the cue like it was a walking stick. “It’s the face people make when they finally get it. When they finally know they’re not getting out. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.”

  Kazou didn’t answer. He sat very still, shoulders tight, every nerve tuned to the man in front of him.

  Nowak smiled. “But you… You’re not like the others.” He tapped the cue lightly against his own head. Tok. Tok. “You’ve got that… little scientist brain still ticking. Probably thinking: ‘If I just breathe slow enough… if I just keep calm… something will happen.’”

  Nowak moved closer, his boots scraping the concrete. His voice dropped to a mock whisper.“Maybe… your little blonde friend will swoop in to save you?”

  ***

  The man moved first. He fired once, the shot biting a hole in the plaster just inches from her head. She ducked, the heat of the bullet grazing past her cheek, and slid low under his arm. Her foot hooked hard against his shin—he staggered, the gun clattering from his hand.

  Downstairs, the muffled bass from the adult club froze mid-beat. Guests craned their necks toward the ceiling, startled eyes darting as the echo of gunshots seeped through the floor.

  ***

  For the first time, Kazou’s eyes flickered.

  Nowak caught it instantly. His grin split wider, revealing yellowed teeth. “Ahhh… so she is important to you."

  The cue stick traced lazy patterns in the air. Then, almost sweetly, Nowak asked: “Where’s Casimir?”

  Kazou’s reply was quiet but firm.“I don’t know.”

  For a second, there was only the hum of the light overhead.

  Then — CRACK!

  The cue stick whipped across Kazou’s face, exploding into pain. His chair skidded sideways, nearly toppling before crashing back onto all four legs. Blood spilled fresh from the cut on his cheek, warm and metallic in his mouth.

  Nowak’s voice turned sharp, ugly. “Don’t play stupid with me, you little Chinese bastard!” The last word came with a sneer, thick with venom. “I know you’ve been sniffing around, playing professor. I know he’s close. And you’re going to tell me.”

  Kazou spat blood to the side, the red pooling on the cracked concrete. His vision swam, but his breathing didn’t break. He kept his gaze fixed just past Nowak, never giving him the satisfaction of direct eye contact.

  Nowak squatted down in front of him, cue stick now resting across his knees. His smile returned, softer now, almost childlike.

  “Don’t make me upset, Doctor. When I get upset, I stop playing nice.”

  "Who the hell are you?! What is your goal?"

  "You foreigners have no right to question me!" Nowak leaned in, voice lowering to a conspiratorial hush.“Where… is… Casimir?”

  Kazou didn’t answer.

  Nowak’s smile faded — slowly, deliberately.

  ***

  Her breath was a sharp hiss in the stale hallway air. The man stumbled back from her kick, swearing and reaching wildly for the gun on the floor.

  But Natalie was faster. She spun, gun raised and steady, a cold fire behind her eyes.

  “Back off,” she snapped, voice low but deadly.

  The man’s face twisted in fury. His hand grabbed a broken piece of wood from the floor and swung it toward her head.

  Natalie ducked again, heart hammering, muscles screaming. The strike shattered a lamp against the wall, sparks raining down like fleeting stars.

  Below, muffled thuds and groans echoed, the club’s pulsing music drowning under the sounds of violence creeping closer.

  ***

  Kazou’s chest rose shallowly, each breath a shudder. The pool cue stick hovered above him. Nowak loomed, his round cheeks flushed a blotchy red, sweat glistening in the folds of his face. His breath stank of cheap liquor and bile.

  “You tell me where Casimir is, doctor…” His voice was low, shaking, desperate. The cue pressed into Kazou’s collarbone, digging in until it hurt. “…or you’ll leave here in a wheelchair—if you leave at all.”

  Kazou met his eyes, silent, the tension between them thick enough to hear the creak of the building around them. Somewhere beyond the door, muted voices reacted to the commotion upstairs.

  Nowak leaned in, eyes dark pools of menace.

  “You think you’re the one holding the cards, don’t you? Like all those scientists from the past. You think you can play god.”

  Kazou’s lips parted, but no words came. His mind flickered—Hannah’s laughter, Natalie’s fierce gaze. Then he finally gathered the strength to speak.

  "How does Casimir benefit you?!" Kazou asked through gritted teeth.

  Nowak froze, then laughed—a horrible, jagged sound, more like a sob strangled in the throat. His eyes watered, fat tears trembling down his swollen cheeks. He bared his teeth, spit flying.

  “Casimir? Casimir is the end of the world.” His laugh broke into a scream. “He is the fire! He is The Burning!” His face twisted, desperation bleeding into devotion. “He is the SAVIOR!”

  The pool cue trembled in his hands, then jerked upward. He raised it high, a lunatic preacher at the altar. His yell cracked into hysteria, voice booming against the hollow walls.

  “NOW YOU TELL ME WHERE HE IS!!”

  ***

  A loud crash from downstairs. There were shouts and panic coming from the guests downstairs.

  They must be flipping the furniture for protection. Natalie thought. I have to stop this son of a bitch!

  The man lunged, but Natalie pivoted, aiming a perfect shot at his shoulder. The gun barked, the man howled, clutching his arm, stumbling back.

  She didn’t wait. She dashed toward the staircase, every nerve screaming.

  “Stop her!” a voice barked behind her.

  She didn’t look back.

  Her footfalls thundered against the stairs.

  She burst through the club’s back exit into the cool night, heart racing.

  A dozen shadows moved fast behind her—men in suits, cold and merciless.

  Her gun clicked empty.

  Ahead, the alley swallowed her whole.

  She darted left, heart pounding so loud she was sure they could hear it.

  Behind her, footsteps. Faster.

  She spun, firing blindly over her shoulder.

  The men closed in.

  Her world narrowed to one point—a chance to save Dr. Kuroda from these awful men.