"No—it's just..." Paul watched her for a moment, then consciously relaxed. "It's nothing. I'm fine."
"You're saying that now," Mia replied, her tone casual. "But not a second ago. You were rambling gibberish. Honestly? I thought you'd been possessed by a ghost."
Paul's gaze sharpened. "What did you hear?"
She glanced at him, her expression softening. "'I want to know. I have to find it.' You were saying it nonstop. Over and over.
Paul leaned back into the bench. "Just forget it."
"Only if I can..." she muttered under her breath.
Paul stayed quiet, letting the noise in his head settle. The case was gone. Shut down without explanation. He had asked—pushed for a reason—but Philip had given him nothing.
I can't just leave it like this.
"How did your paper go?" She asked.
He saw her glance at him from the corner of her eye. Paper?
"Good."
"Just 'good'?" She leaned back, a dry laugh escaping her. "You left your seat in thirty minutes. I hadn't even solved the first question. I thought you'd just filled in your name and walked out, but the teacher's face told a different story."
"I'm sorry."
Her head snapped toward him. "What?"
She leaned in close, her brow furrowed. "What for?"
"For leaving you alone," Paul answered. "I should have at least dropped you off at the street and called you a cab."
Mia stared at him. She inched closer, her face inches from his. "Are you really... saying sorry? Not just anyone, but you?"
She pulled back, laughing softly in disbelief.
"Anything could have happened to you," Paul insisted. "Wandering alone late at night isn't safe."
"No, no. First, let me digest this." She controlled her laughter and breathed out slowly. "So, you're feeling guilty because you left a girl alone in the dark. Why?"
"Because—"
"This isn't like you," she blurted out, cutting him off. "And for the record, it was me who called you there. If I can get there alone, I can get back alone."
Paul watched her, offering no rebuttal. The silence stretched.
"I went back safely. Don't you see me?" She pushed his shoulder softly. "Though... I do feel bad that you left so suddenly. It was a little lonely."
Paul dropped his gaze to the ground. "I'll never do that again. I'll never disappear suddenly."
"You promise?"
Paul didn't answer, his right hand starting to twitch on his knee. It began with his thumb, then spread through his whole hand.
Mia saw it. Before he could pull away, she reached out and grabbed his hand, her grip firm, holding his fingers still.
Paul looked up at her, not seeking comfort, but a reaction. She wasn't scared, not even surprised. She just smiled a little, waiting for his hand to stop shaking. She was too calm, her heart not even racing.
Leaning in, she whispered, "Just call a cab for me next time, okay?"
"I will," Paul said. As she held him, the shaking stopped.
Mia brushed the back of his hand gently before leaning back, giving him space. "Anyway, how did everything go after that call? It seemed... really important."
"We were working on an assignment," Paul replied calmly. "It got shut down."
"So is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"Both."
"Both?"
"Good for them. Bad for me."
Mia paused, her eyes widening as the pieces clicked together. "Wait. Could that be it? The mumbling? You wanted to know more about the assignment?"
"Yeah."
"Then... what are you going to do next?"
Paul observed her with calm eyes. He doesn't know if the question was an interrogation or concern.
"That's what I'm thinking."
…
Roman sat on the sofa, his fingers tightly crossed. The calm demeanor he usually held was nowhere to be seen.
Across the table sat a man in an all-black outfit. Behind him stood two more men, wearing the same dark dress code, their faces like stone.
"How much have you decided this time?" the man asked.
Roman's boots tapped against the floor. He looked up, trying to keep his voice steady. "We've received more demands from the south blocks. I think I'll have to ask for a 20% increase in quantity."
"Twenty." The man thought for a moment, his eyes never leaving Roman's face. "Is this Fester's on the South block?"
"Yeah, Tensei and Abacus too."
"Tensei? I haven't heard about them before."
"They were the same people from Booster's," Roman said, hesitating for a beat. "Someone else is handling the distributions there. There was a small conflict among them. But it has settled down."
"Alright," the man said. "I'll increase the quantity. If you think they're okay, we are okay too."
Roman nodded, his shoulders dropping as the weight of the negotiation lifted.
The man stood up slowly. "Next Saturday then. I hope you're good with that."
Roman stood too, a genuine sense of relief settling in his chest. He thought the hard part was over. "Should I inform Paul too that his work's done? Maybe he already knows this by now."
The man stopped. He frowned. "Paul?"
"Yes. Paul Vaxlar—his full name, if I remember correctly," Roman replied, unaware of the sudden shift in the room's temperature. "He was sent here to check on us. To see how things were going until the next deal."
The man's frown deepened.
Paul Vaxlar?
He didn't remember anyone by that name. He turned to his men, but they seemed just as unaware. No one had been informed about sending anyone to check on Roman.
The man forced his face back into a mask of calm. "Give me a minute. I'll have to make a call."
He didn't wait for a reply. He walked outside, his fingers moving quickly as he dialed. The silence felt heavy as the call connected after two rings.
"Hello, sir. It's me, Anthony."
"What is it?" The voice on the other end was cold.
Anthony put some distance between himself and the room, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Did you send someone to check on Roman's place beforehand?"
"I didn't."
"Then was there someone else who did?"
"Just speak what happened," the voice commanded.
"There's a man who used our name to infiltrate Roman's group," Anthony said. "And Roman is unaware."
The reply came several long seconds later. "Does he have a name or anything?"
"Yes. Paul Vaxlar."
There was no reply for a full minute. The silence on the line was so absolute that Anthony's tension spiked. Then, he heard it—a faint, dry laugh. It was the sound of someone who had just found a missing piece of a puzzle.
"You know this Paul Vaxlar, sir?"
"Yes. Yes, I know him. I know him very well," the man replied. "Paul Vaxlar. I sent him there. You don't need to get worked up."
"Yes, sir. Thanks for your confirmation." Anthony still felt something off about that laugh.
"One more thing," the voice added. "Tell Roman to inform Paul about this deal. Paul needs to be inside the building next Saturday."
"Yes, sir. I'll tell Roman now."
"Yeah. Erase everyone.
The words were so sudden that Anthony felt his heart skip. "What? I... I heard something wrong."
"You heard it right," the voice repeated. "Erase everyone. Whoever is connected with this."
The call ended with a sharp click.
Anthony took a breath and went back into the room. His face stone again. "Yeah, Paul Vaxlar was sent here beforehand. I just talked with my higher-ups."
Roman nodded, though a small thought flickered in his head: Even they weren't aware of Paul's presence here until now.
"Inform Paul about this," the man said, looking Roman directly in the eyes. "Everyone from your group needs to be present."
"Why?" Roman frowned.
"The increase will be 50%, not 20%. And we'll discuss a new contract." The man smiled faintly. "It'll be beneficial for you."
…
Julian stopped in front of the massive glass building. The silver letters on the front read: 'Life & Kare Biomedical Distribution.'
He stepped onto the property, watching the people in white coats move through the courtyard. He remembered the name clearly now. He had seen it on the containers at the Neomar docks and again in George's report.
"Such a big company," Julian muttered to himself. "Why do they need douchebags to handle their work?"
He kept his eyes on the main entrance. A man in his mid-fifties walked out, surrounded by guards who cleared a path through the crowd. As he passed, the employees moved away and bowed their heads in total silence.
A faint smile appeared on Julian's lips. He looked at the phone screen. The sketch Paul had drawn from the memories.
His uncle.
Julian looked at the man in the suit. Then back to the picture.
"Looks nothing alike."
The man in the suit had, wide jaw and deep set of eyes. As any business man would look.
Nothing like Paul's drawing. The sketch showed someone gentle and caring. As someone who cares more about others than himself.
He watched as the man stepped into a black Mercedes. "Must be the owner."