Ryan sat in front of the computer with a cup of coffee that was still warm.
His left hand was still bothering him, but at least he could use it much more normally now. He still felt occasional tingling pains in his fingers, especially when he spent too much time typing.
Still, it was enough.
He opened Nexum's administration panel.
The first thing he checked was the comments and reviews.
There were several new ones.
Ryan began reading them one by one.
> "Fast and professional. I'll hire again."
> "Good communication. The work was delivered ahead of schedule."
> "It still has things to improve, but it works better than other sites."
Ryan remained silent.
There weren't many.
But they were real.
People had actually used the platform and were satisfied with it.
That was more important than any huge number that could appear on the screen.
Ryan opened another section.
Active users.
There had been a small increase.
Nothing spectacular, but the trend was continuing.
Then he checked the published projects.
Some new clients were beginning to use Nexum to find freelancers.
Some needed programmers.
Others needed designers.
There were even a few small requests for translation and writing.
Ryan smiled slightly.
—It's starting to move.
Then he opened the revenue section.
The number still wasn't impressive.
There were a few small payments.
A couple of voluntary donations that certain users had left.
Nothing that could be considered a fortune.
But Ryan stared at the figure for several seconds.
It was money he had generated himself.
Money produced by something that, only a few weeks ago, had barely existed.
—Not bad.
Then he noticed a small reminder in the corner of the screen.
Taxes.
Ryan frowned.
—What a pain…
He leaned back in his chair.
He hated that part.
Having to file taxes.
Keeping records.
Saving receipts.
Doing things properly so he wouldn't unnecessarily attract attention.
It wasn't exactly the exciting part of building a business.
But he knew he couldn't ignore it.
If he wanted Nexum to truly grow, he had to do things right from the beginning.
—I'm not going to build something big just to watch it fall apart because of something stupid.
He opened a notebook he kept beside the keyboard.
He began writing down new ideas.
Ranking of the highest-rated freelancers.
Improve profile portfolios.
Ranking of the most in-demand jobs.
Weekly featured system.
Ryan stopped.
He looked at the first idea.
A ranking could create competition among freelancers.
It could also help clients find trustworthy people.
He picked up his pen and underlined the phrase.
—This one first.
Then he looked at the others.
There was still a lot to do.
A lot.
But now he had a direction.
Ryan closed the notebook and looked at the screen again.
—Little by little…
He took a sip of his coffee.
It was already cold.
He made a face.
—Great.
He set the cup aside and went back to work.
---
Meanwhile, in her room…
Vivian had the notebook open again.
This time, she wasn't writing down random pieces of information.
She was doing something different.
A timeline.
She had placed several sheets of paper across the desk and arranged them chronologically.
She started from the beginning.
The massacre of Tairon's gang at the abandoned warehouse.
Underneath, she wrote:
Clown mark made with blood.
Vivian moved on to the next sheet.
Forest fire.
Human skin remains.
Another mark.
She stared at those words for several seconds.
Then she continued.
Attack at Ana's house.
Four men dead.
Balloons.
Witnesses talking about a clown.
Vivian turned another page.
This time, the information was much more personal.
Her own kidnapping alongside Madeleine.
The hunt through the forest.
The men who transformed.
And finally:
Him.
Vivian froze.
She didn't need to write his name.
She knew exactly who she was talking about.
The Clown.
He had appeared out of nowhere.
He had taken down the attackers.
Then he had soaked them with the water from that strange flower.
And he had disappeared.
Without explaining anything.
Without telling them who he was.
Without leaving them an answer.
Vivian slowly ran her finger over the dates.
There was a pattern.
He always appeared in the middle of something violent.
There was always some kind of symbol.
There were often balloons.
And afterward…
he disappeared.
As if he had never been there.
Vivian leaned back in her chair.
—What are you really doing?
The question hung in the room.
Of course, no one answered.
Vivian looked over the papers again.
There were too many gaps.
Too many things she didn't understand.
She didn't know where he came from.
She didn't know what he wanted.
She didn't even know if all those cases were connected.
But there was one thing she was beginning to understand.
She couldn't keep investigating completely on her own.
She thought about Brittany.
Then Madeleine.
And finally Ana.
All three had experienced something connected to him.
All three knew that the Clown existed.
And unlike other people, they wouldn't think Vivian was simply imagining things.
Vivian slowly closed the notebook.
She hadn't made any decision yet.
She didn't know whether she should tell them everything.
She didn't know if doing so would put them in danger.
And she didn't know what would happen if the Clown discovered that they were investigating him.
But the idea was already there.
Maybe they needed to talk.
Maybe the four of them together could find something that none of them had noticed on their own.
Vivian put the notebook inside the drawer.
—I'll think about it tomorrow.
She locked the drawer.
For now, that was enough.
---
Later…
Ryan finally closed the computer.
He remained silent for a few seconds, staring at the open notebook.
There were numbers.
Ideas.
Plans.
Corrections.
Things that still needed improvement.
Nexum was still small.
Very small.
But it was no longer just an idea.
It was a beginning.
Ryan leaned back in his chair and let out a sigh.
He still had a lot of work ahead of him.
A lot to build.
A lot to learn.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he also had supernatural matters still waiting for him.
But he couldn't solve everything at the same time.
One thing first.
Then another.
Ryan closed the notebook.
—Little by little.
He turned off the computer.
The room fell silent.
Nexum was still small.
But beginnings, even slow ones, could be dangerous…
because eventually, they grew.