The play place doors swung open, and Hannah stepped out into the Warsaw night.

  The neon from the arcade machines died behind her, the laughter of children cut short as the door shut. Out here, the city was loud in a different way—sirens somewhere distant, glass shattering, voices shouting over one another in panic. Smoke drifted down the avenue, blurring the streetlamps until they glowed like halos through fog.

  Hannah hugged herself and shivered.

  “…Where’s Kuroda?”

  Her small voice was lost in the noise. She turned one way, then the other, her shoes scuffing against the broken pavement. People rushed past her—men in coats, women in showy dresses. No one noticed the little girl who had been left behind.

  She tried to keep walking, her eyes scanning faces that blurred together in the smoke. None of them was his.

  The side street she turned into was quieter. Narrow. Dim. Trash bins leaned against the walls like crooked shadows, and the glow of fire flickered from somewhere beyond the rooftops. The smell of burning plastic stung her nose.

  That’s when she saw it.

  A jacket. Crumpled against the bricks, half-hidden in the shadow of the alley.

  Her heart jumped. She stepped closer, slowly, afraid of what she might see. She crouched down, her fingers trembling as they reached out.

  The sleeve was stiff. Stained. Faint streaks of red smeared the fabric.

  Her breath caught in her throat. “T-That’s… Kuroda’s…”

  The words were no louder than a whisper.

  She lifted the jacket into her arms. It was heavier than she expected, as if it carried some of his weight. She balled the fabric against her chest, holding it close like a shield.

  Her voice cracked, breaking into the alley.

  “Kuroda! …Kuroda!”

  She stumbled forward, running now, clutching the jacket as if she could drag him back through it. Her cries echoed off the stone walls, desperate and lonely.

  “Kuroda!”

  No answer. Only silence.

  Her pulse quickened. The city pressed in around her, too big, too dark. She turned a corner—

  And the world shifted.

  A shadow pulled itself off the wall.

  A hand shot out, clamping her wrist. Another pressed a cloth hard over her mouth. She gasped against it, the sound muffled, her legs kicking wildly against the cobblestones.

  “Ah… the girl Kazou Kuroda was with,” a man’s voice rasped. Calm. Cruel. His breath stank of tobacco. “Maybe with this on the line, he’ll speak.”

  Hannah fought, her fists pounding against his arm, but his grip was iron. The jacket slipped from her arms, dragging over the street as she twisted in his hold.

  He lifted her with disturbing ease, adjusting his grip like she weighed nothing at all. Her muffled screams ricocheted down the empty street.

  “Quiet now,” he muttered, his tone almost casual. He carried her steadily toward the glow of fire at the end of the road. “You’ll be useful soon.”

  ***

  Nowak leaned across the pool table, cue stick balanced like a cane in his hands. The overhead light cut deep shadows into his face, making his grin look more like a wound than a smile.

  “You know what I can’t stand, Dr. Kuroda?” His voice rasped with mock intimacy, as though he were sharing a secret. “Foreigners who think they’re smarter than everyone else. Always the same story—come here with your degrees, your polite little manners, your bowing, and your doctor voice. Thinking you’ll fit in. But you don’t.”

  He circled Kazou slowly, cue stick dragging against the concrete floor with a screech.

  “You’ll never belong here. You’re just another bastard in a country that isn’t yours. And now—” his laugh came short and sharp, “—you’re tied to a chair in some goddamn garage like the rest of the trash I deal with.”

  Kazou’s head sagged slightly, blood still wet at the corner of his mouth from the earlier blow. He didn’t answer.

  Nowak stopped in front of him and crouched low, tilting his head like a curious child peering at an insect. “Where’s Casimir?”

  Kazou’s eyes flickered upward. “I don’t know.”

  The cue cracked across his face before the words had fully left his lips.

  Nowak’s grin broke into a snarl. “Don’t lie to me, Jap!” Spit flew from his lips. “You think you can play dumb with me? You think your calm little scientist routine is gonna save you?!”

  Kazou coughed, metallic warmth filling his mouth. He turned his head, spitting blood onto the dusty floor. His cheek had already begun to swell, the mark of the cue livid across his skin.

  Nowak straightened, pacing back to the pool table with a sudden calm, as if nothing had happened. He lined up another shot. The ball rolled, tapped the side pocket, and dropped in with a hollow click.

  Kazou breathed through his nose, steady but sharp, grunting in pain.

  Nowak noticed. And for the briefest second, his smile faltered.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Nowak’s face twitched as if the mask of amusement was slipping. His words grew sharper, uglier.

  “You sit there looking at me with those beady little eyes, thinking you’re above it all. Like you’re smarter. Like you’re better. But you’re not better, Doctor. With Casimir, we will burn all who aren't worthy. Like you."

  He jabbed the cue against Kazou’s chest, hard enough to make him wince.

  Kazou’s breathing was labored now, ribs aching from where the car had clipped him. His silence was steady, but he couldn’t mask the slight tremor in his exhale. A tremor of fear.

  Nowak saw it. His grin returned, wide and cruel.

  “See? There it is. The fear. It always shows. Doesn’t matter how much you pretend.”

  He leaned in so close that Kazou could smell the sour stench of cigarettes and cologne soaked into his skin.

  “Tell me where Casimir is. Tell me, or I’ll beat that polite doctor face of yours into something no one will recognize. And when I’m done, I’ll make sure every bastard in Warsaw knows what happens to foreign rats who defy the new order of my organization."

  Kazou’s voice rasped, raw. “New order…? You built an organization to worship Casimir?!”

  The cue snapped across his face again.

  Nowak’s pupils flared with manic conviction. He slammed the cue down so hard the bulb above rattled.

  “You aren't the one asking the questions! All you do is answer mine!! Casimir isn’t just a man—he’s the future. He’s the one who will cleanse this rotten world! The weak, the impure, the non-superiors, such as yourself—they’ll burn. They’ll be ashes under his boots! And we—those who follow him—will inherit what’s left! WhERE IS CASIMIR BIELSKA?"

  Kazou lifted his head slowly. His eye was swollen, his lip split, blood trailing down his chin. And still—he said nothing.

  That silence, that unflinching refusal, burned hotter in Nowak than any insult. He slammed the cue against the floor, pacing, teeth clenched.

  “You bastard… You think you’re too good to talk to me?!” His voice cracked into a shout. “You think your foreign blood makes you untouchable?!”

  The room vibrated with his fury, the overhead light swaying, shadows lurching across the walls like specters.

  Kazou’s chest rose and fell, shallow but steady, and though every breath carried pain, his eyes stayed fixed on Nowak with the same quiet, surgical precision.

  And that—more than any words—was what pushed Nowak closer to the edge.

  The cue struck the floor beside Kazou’s head with a crack that rattled through the boards. Dust rained from the ceiling. Kazou flinched but didn’t cry out—his gaze never left Nowak. Nowak’s chest heaved, spittle clinging to his lips. His round face quivered with rage and something more dangerous: faith.

  "Why do you need Casimir?" Kazou asked through gritted teeth.

  Nowak's voice dropped to a growl. “Casimir isn’t yours to question. He belongs to us. To our people. He’s the fire that’ll burn all the filth away.” His flushed cheeks gleamed wet with tears. He dragged the cue’s tip down Kazou’s chest, a slow scrape that made the doctor shudder. “Every parasite, every whore, every lying bitch who laughed at me—they’ll all see. Casimir will cleanse them. He’ll prove me right. He’ll make the world kneel.”

  Kazou’s eyes narrowed, his voice steady despite the tremor in his lungs.

  "You are using Casimir as a way to justify your terrible actions."

  He lunged forward, pressing the jagged end of the broken cue against Kazou’s throat. His tears streamed freely now, his voice shivering between rage and devotion.

  “He speaks to me in the fire, in the dark. You don’t know what it’s like to be nothing—to rot in shadows while whores spit on you, while foreigners take what should be ours. Casimir will erase it all. He’ll give me a name. A place. A kingdom.”

  The tip dug harder into Kazou’s neck. The scientist could feel Nowak’s hands trembling—not just from fury, but from the unbearable weight of belief. Kazou’s breath came shallow, but his gaze held firm.

  “Casimir isn’t your savior. He’s your noose.” Kazou muttered.

  Nowak blinked, stunned. For a heartbeat, his expression cracked, soft as a child’s. Then it twisted back into something monstrous. His laugh came shrill, high-pitched, echoing through the hollow room.

  “You don’t GET IT! You don’t get to speak his name like that! Not you—never you! Filthy foreign dog, crawling here with your microscopes and your clean hands, thinking you’re better than the rest of us. You want to analyze Casimir? Reduce him to one of your numbers, your experiments? He’s more than you’ll ever understand!”

  The chair rattled as Nowak’s hands gripped it. With a guttural roar, he shoved it sideways. Kazou’s body lurched violently, the chair clattering onto its side with a crash that echoed through the beams. The impact knocked the air from his lungs. His head smacked against the dusty floorboards, stars flaring across his vision.

  The ropes dug into his wrists and chest as he tried to shift. His ribs ached with every shallow breath. The room tilted and swayed, dust choking the air.

  Nowak knelt, looming. He jammed the cue under Kazou’s chin, forcing his head back until his throat stretched, vertebrae grinding. Kazou’s teeth gritted, his jaw trembling with the effort to keep still. His eyes, though heavy, did not break away from Nowak’s.

  Nowak smiled then, an awful, childlike grin that split his sweaty face. His voice lowered, but it shook, dripping venom.

  “You’re fading fast, doctor. You hear me? Those eyes of yours are already half-shut. You can barely breathe. You won’t last long.”

  Kazou’s chest heaved, his breath thin and ragged. The cue pressed harder against his throat, cutting off what little air remained. He rasped, voice hoarse, broken into fragments.

  “You… worship a boy… because he gives you permission… to hate.”

  Nowak froze, face twitching. For a heartbeat, the madness faltered. But then his eyes widened, and he shook his head, violently, like a dog warding off a thought. His fury surged back, hotter, more desperate.

  “NO! WRONG! WRONG! WRONG! Casimir is purity. He’s blood—our blood. He’s the child born of suffering, of rage, of centuries they spat on us! He’s not just a boy—he’s our przywódca, our Messiah! He’s the torch that will burn every parasite, every degenerate, every foreign hand that touches what’s not theirs! You still don’t see, Doctor! Casimir is no boy—he is deliverance! He will sweep this broken world clean! The Superiors will rise, and the useless—” His grin snapped, teeth bared. “—the crawling, filthy Non-Superiors will burn. Every last one of them.”

  The cue shuddered against Kazou’s chin as Nowak pressed harder, forcing his jaw open until his teeth ached. Kazou’s breath hissed out between clenched molars.

  Nowak’s voice rose to a shriek, veins bulging in his neck.

  “YOU’RE NOTHING! You come here, with your little scientist badge, your clean conscience, but you’re going to burn! You’ll burn under Casimir’s fire like the rest! Do you hear me? You don’t deserve to breathe his air!”

  The chair creaked under Kazou’s shifting weight as he struggled to draw in air. His vision blurred at the edges, eyelids heavy, fluttering. But still—he whispered through the crushing wood at his throat:

  “He’s not fire… He’s just… a boy.”

  Nowak’s face cracked. His features twisted between rage and something fragile, wounded. Tears streaked hot down his cheeks, leaving rivers in the red blotches.

  “DON’T CALL HIM THAT!”

  Nowak leaned so close Kazou could smell the sour stench of liquor and bile on his breath. His words were whispered now, trembling with worship and hate:

  “He’s going to save us, doctor. Save us from you. From all of you who wish to go against THE BURNING. And when he does, men like me won’t be laughed at anymore. We’ll be kings. Did I mention, the burning is our organization to help Casimir rise!'

  Kazou’s lips parted, his whisper faint but sharp as glass.

  “No, Nowak… you’ll still be… nothing.”

  Nowak’s eyes widened. His face convulsed with fury. A scream tore from his throat, guttural and raw, shaking the walls. The cue wrenched tighter against Kazou’s chin, his head forced back until pain seared his spine. His breath faltered, eyes fluttering closed once more.

  Nowak grinned, teeth bared, manic.

  “Fade, doctor. Fade into the dark. Casimir will take your place.”