The single kerosene lamp on the nightstand cast long, dancing shadows that swallowed the corners of Olt’s small bedroom, leaving the space feeling intimate.

  Olt stood before the chipped, full-length mirror in the corner. He was clad only in his undershirt and trousers. The white cotton undershirt, worn thin with age, felt soft against his skin. It was very different from the rougher fabrics he was about to don. He began to dress in the Advocate outfit his grandfather had given him, each movement slow, almost reverent.

  He pulled on the dark, sturdy knee breeches. The dark fabric was thick, almost canvas-like. They felt stiff and unfamiliar against his legs. He fastened the leather straps and buckles. The worn leather creaked softly in the quiet room. Next, he slipped into the short-sleeved vest jacket. The navy vest jacket, with its brass buttons gleaming dully in the lamplight, felt surprisingly tailored, despite its age. It fit snugly across his shoulders, as a subtle weight settled upon him. He ran a hand over the smooth, dark fabric, noticing the intricate stitching around the collar and armholes. Then, he fastened the buttons.

  Finally, he reached for the Pacifier. He lifted the machete from his desk. It felt substantial in his hand, the weight grounding him. The dark steel of the blade was cool to the touch, and almost black in the dim light. The etched blue leaves and vines seemed to catch and hold the lamplight. Running a finger carefully along the razor edge, Olt felt its terrifying sharpness. The handle, carved from dark, polished wood, fit his grip perfectly. The strange symbols carved into the blade pressed against his palm. It was unfamiliar yet strangely comforting.

  Olt slid the machete into the worn leather sheaf designed to be worn across his back. The leather sighed softly as the blade slid home. He adjusted the straps, feeling the weight settle against his spine. The faint scent of leather and old fabric rose from the clothes, mingling with the cool air.

  This is goodbye. Goodbye to the quiet life. Goodbye to the man I was. I can't keep running. Not anymore.

  He stood still for a moment, and took a deep breath.

  …

  The farmhouse living room was steeped in shadow, lit only by the warm glow of the fireplace and the faint spill of light from the hallway. There was a scent of woodsmoke.

  Hannah sat perched on the edge of the worn sofa, her back ramrod straight, trying to maintain composure. Her hands, however, betrayed her. They were clasped tightly in her lap, twisting a corner of her apron into a knot. Tears glistened in her eyes, reflecting the firelight, but she refused to let them fall.

  "Be careful, Olt. Please," she whispered, her voice fragile. "Promise me you'll come back." She reached out, her hand trembling slightly, and pressed a small, hand-stitched pouch into his hand. The pouch was made of soft, worn leather, tied with a thin leather thong. It was warm from her touch, and Olt could feel something small and smooth inside.

  Omar stood by the stone fireplace. His weathered face showed worry. The deep lines around his eyes and mouth seemed more pronounced in the firelight. But his posture was unwavering and steady.

  "If you need anything at all, we’ll be here."

  He stepped forward, placing a heavy hand on Olt's shoulder.

  Cristina leaned against the wall near the doorway, arms crossed tightly. Her usual sharp edges were softened by concern. She tried to project strength, but her voice trembled slightly.

  "Don't be reckless, Olt. You hear me? Think before you act."

  She paused, her voice softening further, almost breaking.

  "And… come back to us safe and sound."

  She stepped forward, offering a tight, quick hug, as her arms squeezed him fiercely. As she pulled back, she cupped his face in her hands, her thumbs gently wiping away a stray smudge of soot he hadn't noticed.

  "We're proud of you," she said.

  Jeffrey stood near the front door. His silhouette was framed against the faint twilight filtering through the windowpanes. He held the truck keys loosely in his hand.

  "Truck's full of gas, and oil's checked. Be careful driving in the city, those streets are a maze at night."

  He paused, his voice becoming rough.

  "Stay aware of your surroundings and remember to expect the unexpected."

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  He stepped forward, placing the truck keys in Olt's hand. Their hands clasped briefly in a firm handshake. Jeffrey’s demeanor was direct.

  Olt looked at each of them in turn, his heart full. His family’s love and fear were a burden on him. He nodded, acknowledging Jeffrey’s advice. Then, clutching the keys and the small leather pouch, he turned and walked towards the door, leaving the warm, anxious embrace of his family behind.

  The air was cooler now. Crickets chirped their evening chorus. Olt stood on the porch steps. The truck keys felt heavy in his hand.

  Olt nodded to himself, as if accepting whatever fate came his way. Then, he turned towards the worn, familiar pickup truck parked in the driveway.

  Suddenly, twin beams of headlights pierced the night, illuminating the farmhouse porch like a stage. Two vehicles, sleek and unfamiliar, appeared on the road, approaching fast. Their engines hummed with a low, powerful growl that shattered the quietness of the evening. They pulled up in front of the house, their tires crunching on the gravel driveway.

  Rebecca emerged from the lead sedan, the driver's side door clicking shut with a solid thud. She slung a worn leather bookbag over her shoulder. Her face was set, serious, but there was a hint of relief in her eyes at seeing Olt and his family.

  From the SUV behind, the passenger door opened slowly. Jacqueline Melenko unfolded from the vehicle like a predator. Tall, powerfully built, with a gaze that could cut steel. Her brown hair was severely pulled back, emphasizing the sharp angles of her face and the unwavering intensity of her light eyes. She moved with a fluid, almost unsettling grace. Her attire was practical, functional, and undeniably intimidating. She wore tactical pants tucked into sturdy, black boots that gleamed faintly in the headlights. A fitted, dark jacket hinted at the powerful physique beneath. Beneath the jacket, she had a plain, dark T-shirt. No jewelry, no makeup, no concessions to softness or femininity were displayed, just pure, unadorned efficiency. She carried herself with an aura of quiet, lethal competence.

  The family and Olt reacted with surprise, their eyes widening as they took in the unexpected arrival. Jeffrey stepped protectively in front of his family, his posture tensing. Recognition dawned on their faces as they identified Rebecca. Then, their attention shifted to Jacqueline.

  Stepping forward, her voice clear and direct, Rebecca addressed the family.

  "Everyone, I know this is unexpected, but… this is Jacqueline Melenko."

  Rebecca gestured towards Jacqueline with a slight nod.

  "She's going to be with you for a while. My sister… Olivia agreed to provide some… security."

  The word security felt inadequate, almost comical, in the face of Jacqueline's imposing presence.

  "Jacqueline, this is Olt's family – Omar, Hannah, Cristina, and Jeffrey."

  Jacqueline stepped forward, her voice resonant, and utterly professional, devoid of warmth or personal inflection.

  "Pleased to meet you all.”

  She observed the family, assessing them quickly. It was not a friendly look, but a calculating appraisal. Her light eyes, unwavering and intense, lingered on each family member in turn, before finally settling on Olt. She held his gaze for a beat longer than the others.

  "Rebecca has explained the situation. I am here to ensure your safety. For the duration of this arrangement, consider me present."

  Jacqueline paused, softening slightly as she took in Olt's attire.

  "That outfit looks nice on you, very authentic."

  Olt was in awe of Jacqueline’s presence. It was unexplainable, but it was hypnotizing. Without a doubt, this person standing before him was one of the most significant martial advocates in the last decade. And now she was complimenting him and protecting his family. Shock vibrated through his nerves. Trying to maintain composure, Olt replied as monotone as he could.

  “Ah, thank you.”

  Rebecca also noticed Olt's clothes, a small smile touching her lips.

  "Looks like Olt is definitely taking this serious. Very traditional."

  Olt glanced at Rebecca.

  “How did you manage to get Jacqueline Melenko?”

  Jeffrey stepped forward, addressing Jacqueline.

  “Not that I don’t appreciate the service, but I doubt we can afford your-“

  Rebecca interrupted.

  “There is nothing to afford. I know it might be a lot to process right now, believe me, I had no idea this was the person Olivia would provide us with, but consider this to be on the…house.”

  Jacqueline showed a faint smile.

  “There’s no need to get nervous. I’m just here to make sure you stay safe,” she said, as her tone shifted to a humble note. “Rebecca has briefed me on the situation.”

  Jeffrey sighed and nodded. He locked eyes with Rebecca, with gratitude displayed on his face.

  Distracting Olt from Jacqueline’s demanding presence, he noticed Rebecca’s bookbag, slung casually over her shoulder. His eyes held a silent, questioning intensity. He raised an eyebrow.

  "What's in the bag, Rebecca?" he asked quietly.

  Rebecca shifted her attention to him, her expression serious.

  "Our bargaining chip for tonight."

  Olt was desperate to ask what it was. So much had happened in so little time, the last thing on his mind was that they would have time to develop a bargain. Although he wanted to continue with another question, Olt understood they were pressed for time.

  “Well, I guess I’ll follow you on the road.”

  Rebecca noticed the keys hanging from Olt’s hand.

  “You won’t be needing those. I also came to pick you up. Leaves less room for error.”

  It was evident to Olt that Rebecca had all this planned from the start.

  …

  Olt walked towards Rebecca's sedan, its dark surface gleaming in the headlights. As he proceeded to get in the car, he turned to face his family one more time. They all waved with expressions of worry. He climbed into the sedan, the doors closing with a solid, reassuring thud. The sedan pulled away from the farmhouse, its taillights tracing a red streak down the long, dusty road.