With the chaos erupting throughout the party, Lars and Viktor took advantage of the confusion to slip away. They pushed their way through the crowd—people still hitting each other without understanding why—and slipped into a side door they found.
Inside, it was completely dark.
They closed the door. The noise outside became muffled, though it still vibrated faintly through the walls. Viktor felt along the wall and found a switch. A yellowish light flicked on with a snap, revealing a wide, elegant office.
A dark wooden desk dominated the center. To the right, a large bookshelf overflowed with books arranged by color, not by use. On the opposite wall, a leather chair and a small lamp sat beside a massive window overlooking the illuminated city far below.
Lars went straight to the desk and muttered:
"Think this is where that bastard works?"
Viktor surveyed the room calmly, unbothered.
"Yeah. Probably his business office or something," he replied while locking the door behind them.
Lars began opening drawers, sifting through papers and folders. He moved everything without restraint, as if he had been waiting all night for this moment. Viktor watched him from a distance, leaning casually against the wall.
"What are you looking for, Lars?" he finally asked.
"That man must have some document… something explaining how he got the kid. We need to find it."
Viktor sighed, walked toward the chair by the window, and sat down, crossing his legs with practiced elegance.
"Why are you doing this? Marcus already has the kid. What's the point of looking for anything else?"
Lars didn't stop. He opened another drawer, flipped through documents, tossed aside what wasn't useful.
"We need to find out who delivered the kid to this man," he answered, still searching. "If we know that, we can end this."
Viktor tilted his head, as if the response didn't surprise him but still didn't please him.
"You know we aren't cops," he said in a calm, almost bored tone. "We do the job and that's it. We don't get involved beyond that."
Lars didn't respond. He just kept digging through papers with a quiet urgency. Behind him, Viktor's phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket and read Marcus's message:
"It's done. I need you to help me get rid of the body."
Viktor stood slowly, as if the message confirmed something he already expected. He walked toward Lars.
"We have to go," he said firmly. "Marcus already did his part."
But Lars kept searching, turning pages as if he hadn't heard a thing.
Viktor exhaled. His shadow stretched across the floor like living liquid. He spoke to it without taking his eyes off Lars.
"You think there's anything here related to the kid's delivery?"
The shadow stirred, like something breathing. It moved across the room—over the furniture, the carpet, the window—then stopped at the desk, in front of the drawer Lars had left open. The shadow pointed inside with a dark limb shaped vaguely like a finger.
Viktor approached. Inside the drawer was an envelope sealed with broken red wax. The imprint was made of two intertwined letters: V and H.
"Interesting…" Viktor murmured, picking it up.
He opened the envelope and pulled out a letter written in English. Reading quietly, he recited:
"Dear Sir,I hope you are well. I'm writing to inform you that we already have your order. One of my men will contact you soon regarding the delivery.Sincerely,V. Hohenwald."
Viktor smirked—the kind of smile that only appears when an ugly puzzle piece finally snaps into place.
"What a son of a bitch," he muttered. "That noble always gave me a bad feeling."
He turned to Lars.
"Here's what you wanted. Now let's go to the penthouse where Marcus is."
He tossed the envelope, and Lars caught it with one hand. He saw the seal, opened it, read the letter. His face tightened—not in surprise, but in confirmation.
"Von Hohenwald…" Lars murmured. "The day I met with him for this job… something about him felt wrong."
Viktor gestured sharply.
"Put it back. Just like it was. No traces."
Lars placed the envelope inside the drawer and closed it slowly. The office suddenly felt colder.
"Let's go," Viktor said.
They left the room, leaving behind the yellow light and the heavy silence that had hidden more than it revealed.
After leaving the room, Viktor and Lars ran into the host, who was leaning in a corner with several guests still shaken from the fight. The two approached naturally.
"What happened?" Viktor asked. "Everything was fine and suddenly chaos broke out."
The host, distracted and irritated, sighed.
"That's what I get for inviting everyone," he replied with a forced smile.
Lars added:
"We understand. We're heading out now—just wanted to say goodbye."
He shook the host's hand with a calm smile. Viktor did the same. Then they left without drawing attention.
Outside the penthouse, they walked through the quiet hallway to the neighboring penthouse. Viktor rang the bell. The door opened seconds later—Marcus stood inside, looking serious, exhausted, tense.
They entered. The metallic smell of blood hit them immediately. In the middle of the room lay the guard's corpse—or what was left of it. Lars looked away at once.
"Where's the kid?" he asked, avoiding the body.
"In the room at the end, on the right," Marcus replied in a low, rough voice.
Lars left without another word.
He reached the door and opened it.
The child was standing in front of the window, staring at the bright city. Silent. Motionless. As if the world outside meant nothing to him.
Lars approached and sat beside him.
"It's over now, buddy," he said softly, gently touching the boy's head.
The child didn't react. Not even a blink. Lars felt a chill but didn't push him. He stood, left the room, and closed the door carefully.
Back in the living room, Viktor's shadow had spread into a dark circle… right where the guard's body had been. It moved slowly, as if digesting something.
Lars frowned.
"Where's the body?"
Viktor answered calmly:
"My shadow ate it."
Lars stared, surprised, but didn't ask anything else. He didn't want details.
Marcus spoke:
"Not the time for questions. We're leaving now."
Viktor nodded. Lars as well.
The job was done. But the silence in the room, the child's emptiness, and the unease in Marcus's eyes made it clear—none of this was good.
Viktor extended his shadow again, letting it slide out of the penthouse like black liquid. It slithered down the hallway and reached the security room. Empty. No guards. The shadow pulsed, scanning for human presence. Nothing. With a swift motion, it shut down all the cameras, leaving every screen black.
"Done," Viktor murmured, feeling the shadow's confirmation inside his mind.
Minutes later, Marcus left first. Lars and Viktor followed. Before stepping out, they checked the hallway—empty. Lars held the child wrapped in his coat, hidden under the thick fabric. They moved quickly to the elevator.
The quiet inside the cabin felt suffocating. The numbers descended one by one—too slow.
When they stepped out of the skyscraper's lobby, Viktor spoke, pressing his temple.
"The camera guy just came back. Let's go."
His shadow, which had been hiding in the control room to warn him, slid back into his body like reverse smoke.
Outside, a black car waited. Marcus sat behind the wheel. He lowered the window slightly.
"Get in. We're leaving."
Lars and Viktor climbed in. The child remained silent against Lars's chest. Marcus drove off without hesitation.
The drive lasted an hour. Empty streets. Flickering streetlights. Silence interrupted only by Marcus's tense breathing and the slight rustle when Lars shifted the boy in his arms.
Eventually, they reached a small non-commercial airport used for private planes. Marcus stopped near the runway.
They all got out. Marcus opened the trunk and grabbed the suitcases. Viktor took two. Marcus took another. Lars carried the child.
A man stood beside a silver plane, checking his watch. He raised his head as they approached.
"Hello, good evening. You'll be flying to Germany with me?" Viktor asked.
The man nodded pleasantly.
"Yes. Nice to meet you. Please board—we depart in five minutes."
They climbed in. Marcus shut the door. While the pilot did his last checks, Lars sat with the child, covering him with a blanket.
Minutes later, the plane rolled down the runway and lifted off into the dark.
Drone of the engine. City lights vanishing.
And the child—always silent.
Heading to Germany.
The sky over Berlin was tinted a bluish gray when the plane descended toward the private airfield. After almost nine hours in the air, the world felt too quiet, as if the city hadn't fully awakened.
"It's seven fifteen…" Marcus murmured, checking his phone as the plane touched down with a gentle bump.
Lars looked out the window. Returning to Germany felt strange—carrying exhaustion, anger, and now a silent child on his lap. The boy hadn't spoken a single word during the whole flight.
The pilot parked near a small hangar and shut off the engines. Everyone stood to disembark. Viktor stretched with a groan.
"I hate small planes… I swear they take years off my life."
Marcus shot him a look.
"You say that about everything, Viktor."
"Because everything takes years off my life," Viktor answered with a tired smile.
Lars, not in the mood for that tone, muttered:
"As long as I'm not the one taking them, relax."
Marcus let out a small laugh. Viktor looked like he wanted to retort but lifted his hands instead in surrender.
They stepped out. The cold morning air hit them instantly. Lars wrapped the boy tighter in his coat.
"Damn," Viktor muttered, zipping his jacket. "I miss Dubai's weather."
"I don't," Marcus said, grabbing the luggage. "I prefer not melting while walking."
A man wearing a reflective vest approached.
"Good morning. Are you the special flight from Dubai?"
Marcus nodded.
"A man in a suit left a car for you," the worker said.
"It's parked out front. Delivered early this morning."
They headed to the exit of the airfield. A black BMW waited, engine running, warming the inside. Marcus put the suitcases in the trunk while Viktor opened the back door so Lars could settle the boy.
The child still didn't react.
"I thought after so many hours he'd say something…" Viktor murmured, fastening his seatbelt.
"He's in shock," Lars replied—though even he wasn't sure.
"Or…" Marcus added, "maybe they did something worse."
No one answered.
The car left the airfield and entered the road. Berlin was beginning to wake up: cafés lifting metal shutters, early cyclists, the sun inching over the horizon.
After half an hour of silence, Lars finally spoke:
"So… what are we doing about this?" He looked at Viktor. "About Von Hohenwald."
Viktor answer.
"Lars, I'll say it again," he said quietly but firmly. "We're not heroes. And the sooner you understand that, the better. You'll get jobs like this in the future, and you can't get involved."
Marcus gave a brief, neutral smile.
"That's what's best, Lars. For now, we just deliver the kid to Von Hohenwald."
Lars didn't answer, but his clenched jaw spoke for him.
Twenty more minutes passed as they left behind the busiest streets. The car entered a large residential district, filled with mansions.
"We're close," Viktor said with the flat professionalism of someone marking a point on a map.
"Yeah," Marcus agreed. "The client has… traditional tastes."
Lars stared straight ahead.
"That bastard lives like he doesn't owe anyone anything."
Marcus didn't comment.
Neither did Viktor.
It wasn't their job.
They drove a little further until the mansion appeared between the trees—huge, silent, still wrapped in the morning shadows.
The three fell silent.
Marcus parked in front of the main gate. Instantly, all three put on their masks. Lars hesitated a moment, exhaling before putting on the clown mask.
"We're here," Marcus said.
Lars lifted his eyes toward the property. His fingers tightened into a fist, still holding the child.
His breathing grew heavy at the sight of Von Hohenwald's mansion.