Kazou’s vision swam. His head lolled against the floorboards, the rope biting into his wrists so hard he could no longer feel his hands. Each breath scraped his chest raw. The pool cue pressed harder beneath his jaw, shoving his head back, cutting his air.

  Nowak leaned over him, blotchy red face dripping sweat, his lips peeled into a trembling snarl.

  “You're fading fast, doctor,” he crooned, voice quaking between ecstasy and fury. “Is this what foreign blood amounts to? Weak lungs and trembling lips?” He shoved the stick harder, forcing Kazou’s teeth to grind together until his jaw ached.

  Kazou’s eyes fluttered. Black dots flickered across his vision. He tried to force words out, but all that came was a strangled wheeze.

  Nowak laughed, unhinged and wet, the sound bouncing off the walls like a broken hymn.

  “Don’t speak. Just listen. Listen to the truth you’ve denied all your life. Casimir will take the rot and burn it away. Every whore, every parasite, every mongrel! He’ll raise us pure and proud from the ashes!”

  The cue ground upward under Kazou’s chin, pinning him to the floor. His throat strained, veins bulging against the pressure.

  “You’re nothing but a rat, hiding behind your scalpel, behind your foreign books and your false gods. Casimir is the one true flame. He’ll cleanse us. He’ll make the world kneel. And I—” his lip trembled, spit foaming at the corners of his mouth—“I will be his hand. His soldier. His prophet!”

  Kazou tried to speak, to muster even a whisper, but the air wouldn’t come. His head lolled to the side. The edges of his vision caved inward, darkness flooding from the corners.

  ***

  Hannah fought the whole way down the street.

  Her legs kicked, her shoes scraping against the pavement as the man dragged her through the smoke-filled alleys. Her cries split the air—high, panicked, desperate—until his hand clamped tighter over her mouth.

  “Quiet,” he hissed, his voice low, the stink of tobacco heavy in his breath. “Scream again and I’ll make you bleed before we even get there.”

  She tried anyway, muffled shrieks vibrating against his palm. Her nails scratched at his arm, her small body thrashing, but his grip was iron. He shoved her around the corner, down a rusted stairwell, and into the stifling dark of the underground garage.

  The stink of oil and rust hit her like a wall. Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, flickering in sickly yellow.

  The man shoved her against a concrete pillar, yanking a rag from his pocket. Before she could turn her head, he jammed it into her mouth, tying it cruelly tight at the back of her head. Her muffled scream broke out raw and pitiful, spit soaking into the cloth.

  “Better,” he muttered, hauling her up by the arm when she tried to drop to her knees.

  She kicked hard—once, twice, the sole of her shoe smacking against his shin—but it only earned her a vicious jerk that nearly wrenched her shoulder from its socket. Tears streaked her face as she stumbled forward, dragged like cargo.

  The garage stretched wide, shadows pooling in every corner.

  And then she saw him.

  Kazou lay on his side, still bound to the toppled chair, his glasses broken on the floor beside him. His cheek was swollen, blood dried in streaks across his face. He stirred at the sound of scuffling shoes, lifting his head with agonizing effort.

  His eyes widened.

  “Hannah!” His voice cracked into a hoarse, desperate yell. He jerked against the ropes, veins straining in his neck. “Hannah!”

  Her muffled scream answered, frantic, pleading, tears blurring her vision.

  “Well, well…” His voice came high and sharp, like a child imitating an adult, teasing, mocking. “The doctor’s little pet, yes? Maybe now you’ll finally understand—you can’t keep your silence forever.”

  Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

  The man restraining Hannah flicked open a knife, the click slicing through the silence like a gunshot. The short blade gleamed cruelly under the bulb. He pressed it against Hannah’s throat, shallow at first—just enough for her to feel the sting.

  Kazou went rigid.

  “No!” he gasped, his voice breaking, shattering into raw panic. “Hannah!”

  She squirmed, her tears streaking down flushed cheeks. Her screams were muffled into the cloth, guttural and helpless, each one spiking through Kazou’s chest like a blade.

  Nowak tilted his head, eyes wide and bright, his grin twitching at the edges as he drank in their terror. His laugh bubbled up, a grotesque, childlike giggle, utterly wrong in the stale garage. He wagged a stubby finger at Kazou.

  “Ah, ah, ah! No, Hannah just yet. First…” His grin stretched wider, yellow teeth gleaming. “First, you tell me where Casimir is. You tell me now—or…”

  He gestured with his hand. The knife pressed deeper. A bead of crimson welled and slid down Hannah’s throat, vanishing into the gag’s filthy fabric. She shrieked into the cloth, writhing in raw panic.

  “…or we will kill her!

  The overhead bulb swung gently, shadows crawling and convulsing across the walls.

  Kazou thrashed uselessly, blood slick on his wrists, his eyes locked on Hannah. He wanted to promise her safety, to beg, to throw himself at their feet—but his voice betrayed him, strangled by guilt, fear, and rage.

  Nowak crouched low, so close Kazou could smell his sour liquor breath, his sweat, the rot between his teeth. His voice dropped into a hiss, conspiratorial, intimate.

  “You think you’re still the hero, Doctor?” His spittle flecked Kazou’s cheek. “No, no. You don’t decide who lives anymore. I do. Casimir does. He is the new order, the chosen one. The world will burn, and only the superior will remain standing.” His grin warped into a snarl, his voice swelling with manic conviction. “Where is Casimir?! Answer me—or we will slit her throat right here and now!”

  The knife gleamed. Hannah bucked and shrieked, her screams muffled but no less horrifying.

  Kazou’s pulse thundered in his ears, so loud it drowned everything else, tears streaming down his bruised face.

  “Hannah!” he screamed, voice splintering apart.

  Her muffled cries answered him—small, desperate, the kind that tore a man apart from the inside.

  Nowak spread his arms, stepping into the glow of the swinging bulb. His face glistened with sweat, his smile—childlike, grotesque—curved too wide.

  “I am so excited!” His voice rose high, trembling with zeal. “The fear. The heat of what’s coming. Casimir is not a boy, not a man—he is the flame that will purify this world. The superiors will rise, and the useless, the weak, the impure…” His grin twitched wider. “…they will burn.”

  He paced, his footsteps echoing across the concrete.

  “We will light the fires ourselves. Do you hear me? All of ?ródmie?cie—every street, every home. The Marriott, the banks, the stations—they will all burn together. Flames rising into the sky like an offering, like a beacon. And in that blaze, Casimir will come. He will see us. He will rise.”

  The man holding Hannah pressed the knife deeper against her neck at Nowak’s gesture. She shrieked into the gag, muffled and raw, kicking in blind panic.

  Kazou jerked against the ropes, his wrists tearing, blood slick against the cord. His chest heaved with every breath, but his eyes—though wet with fear—were steady, fixed on Nowak. His voice broke, hoarse but defiant.

  “You’re insane! Casimir is no god! He’s—he’s just a boy!”

  Nowak froze, then leaned down until his face hovered inches from Kazou’s. His breath reeked of liquor and tobacco, sickly sweet. His eyes bulged wide, glistening.

  “No, Doctor,” he whispered, almost lovingly. “You don’t see him like we do. Casimir is chosen. His very breath divides the worthy from the useless. His silence speaks louder than all your so-called science. He will be the new leader—the one who takes us out of this filth and raises us into fire and light.” His voice cracked into a shriek, spittle spraying: “And you—you pathetic little foreigner—you dare keep him from us?!”

  Kazou frowned with disgust.

  Nowak shot up again, spreading his arms to the shadows as though preaching to an invisible congregation.

  “The useless will burn, Doctor! The impure will scream! And when Warsaw is ash, Casimir will step through the smoke as our leader, our savior! The lights and flames will call him home!”

  The knife at Hannah’s throat gleamed under the bulb, her eyes wide, wet, fixed on Kazou. She whimpered against the cloth, muffled, begging.

  Kazou shook violently, his whole body trembling against the ropes. His voice tore out, cracking with anguish.

  “Hannah! Stay strong! Please—don’t give up!”

  Nowak clapped his hands once, the sound sharp, echoing like a gunshot. His grin returned, grotesque, manic.

  “Answer me, Doctor! Where is Casimir?! I need to know if our fire can reach him from here!"

  The bulb swung harder now, shadows lashing across the walls like flames already licking toward them.

  The door exploded open.

  The crack of wood against the wall jolted the air like a gunshot.

  “GET DOWN! NOW! NOBODY MOVE!”

  The voice was sharp, commanding, and female.

  Nowak froze, blinking stupidly toward the door.

  A blonde girl stood framed in the entry, gun raised, both hands steady on the grip. Her pale hair caught the low light, sharp against the dark room. The pistol’s sight glinted as it trained on Nowak’s sweating forehead.

  Behind her, the men outside were suddenly exposed—hulking shapes caught mid-step, startled by the intrusion. They dropped instinctively, hands raised, sprawling on the dusty floorboards at her barked command.

  Kazou’s body twitched faintly on the floor, still bound, chest stuttering with shallow, frantic breaths. His eyes fluttered open—dazed, blurred shapes sharpening just enough for him to see the gun aimed over him, the trembling figure of Nowak finally robbed of his sermon.