Morning arrived quietly over the neighbouring city , but the streets had already begun to stir long before the sunlight reached every corner. Distant traffic drifted through the neighborhood as a constant murmur, blending with the occasional cries of vendors and the faint rumble of vehicles moving somewhere beyond the narrow residential lanes. At the far end of one such street stood an isolated house whose appearance contrasted sharply with the growing life outside. Every window remained tightly shut, thick curtains blocking even the soft morning light that tried to enter. The building seemed untouched by the new day, wrapped instead in an atmosphere of lingering darkness and stale silence. Inside one of its rooms, a lone figure slept upon a simple bed, unaware of the world gradually awakening beyond the walls. The stillness persisted until the faint sound of a bicycle rolled into the street, its wheels rattling rhythmically across the uneven road. The noise grew steadily louder before ending abruptly with a heavy thud outside the house, followed almost immediately by the bicycle moving away, its sound fading back into the distance as quickly as it had arrived.
The man sleeping on the bed stirred the instant the thud reached him. His eyes opened slowly, his expression clouded with the dull alertness of someone accustomed to waking at the slightest disturbance. Remaining seated for only a brief moment, he allowed his gaze to wander across the dim room, silently searching for anything unusual, yet nothing appeared out of place. The silence inside the house remained intact, disturbed only by the muffled echoes of the city outside. After satisfying himself that nothing had entered the room, he rose from the bed and walked carefully toward the main entrance. His movements carried the cautious habit of a man who had learned never to trust unexpected sounds. Before touching the handle, he leaned toward the small peephole set into the door and looked outside. The street appeared completely ordinary. No bicycle remained in sight, no strangers lingered nearby, and the neighborhood had already resumed its peaceful rhythm beneath the growing daylight. Satisfied, though still cautious, he finally relaxed enough to unlock the door.
The man was the same wanted doctor whose face had quietly spread through police reports and whispered conversations across the city. Even now, every movement carried the instinctive caution of someone living beneath constant fear of discovery. He opened the door only a narrow distance, just enough to slip one hand outside, and immediately noticed a tightly rolled newspaper resting at the doorstep. A thick rubber band held its pages together. Refusing to expose himself any further than necessary, he reached down, picked it up, and withdrew back inside before quietly shutting the door once more. Only after securing the lock did he carry the newspaper into the bedroom, where he sat down upon the edge of the bed. The room remained as gloomy as before, with only thin traces of daylight filtering around the edges of the curtains, yet the newspaper immediately became the center of his attention.
Carefully removing the rubber band, he unfolded the paper across his lap and began scanning the front page with practiced eyes. His attention moved quickly over the columns until a single headline arrested his gaze completely. His expression shifted almost immediately. The calm concentration on his face gave way to visible surprise, followed by cautious hope. Leaning closer, he read every line beneath the headline with increasing intensity, unwilling to miss even the smallest detail. The bold words stared back at him.
"Derata Fetus Case Closed!"
For the first time in many days, a small measure of relief settled inside him. The headline seemed to lift an invisible burden that had weighed constantly upon his thoughts, yet relief alone could not erase suspicion. He had survived long enough by doubting good news rather than believing it. Before allowing himself to feel truly safe, he needed confirmation with his own eyes. Folding the newspaper only halfway, he placed it gently upon the bed and rose once more. Walking toward the window, he slowly pulled the heavy curtains aside, allowing morning sunlight to spill into the room for the first time. The warmth of daylight softened the darkness that had filled the house throughout the night, and although much of his fear regarding the police had begun to fade, uncertainty still lingered stubbornly in the back of his mind. Leaving the newspaper where it rested, he picked up a face mask before returning to the entrance. Standing silently before the locked door, he inhaled deeply, steadying himself for what lay beyond it. Only then did he unlock the door, step outside, and quietly close it behind him.
The morning air felt unfamiliar after so many hours spent inside. He slipped the mask over his face almost immediately, though he understood it did little to conceal him. Anyone who already knew his appearance could still recognize him without much difficulty. Nevertheless, the gesture offered enough comfort to let him continue walking through the small neighborhood. Two houses away, an elderly man sat comfortably upon a wooden chair outside his home with the very same morning newspaper spread across his knees. As the doctor approached, the old man noticed him almost at once, humming quietly before speaking without lifting his eyes completely from the page. He remarked that the case had not been a good one. Their eyes met briefly before the old man asked whether the doctor knew anything about the Fetus Case. The doctor did not remain silent. He answered calmly that he did know about it, allowing the short conversation to continue naturally. Afterward, the old man lowered the newspaper altogether and simply watched him. There was curiosity rather than hostility in his gaze as he quietly studied the newcomer, perhaps because unfamiliar faces rarely appeared within such a small colony.
Believing that the closure of the case had finally reduced the danger surrounding him, the doctor chose not to remain beside the old man any longer and continued walking toward the market. As he moved through the narrow street, he slipped a hand into his pocket and searched for several moments before pulling out a few folded notes and loose coins. The amount was small enough to make him pause. Emerging from the cramped lane onto the wider main road, he lowered his eyes toward the money once again and released a quiet sigh that escaped almost involuntarily. At that very moment, Genido's voice returned to him, echoing through his thoughts with the memory of the conversation they had shared the previous night. The recollection lingered long enough for him to stop beside the roadside and watch the steady stream of passing vehicles. Something continued turning over inside his mind, some decision not yet fully formed, until at last he stepped forward into the moving traffic and disappeared among the crowd, eventually vanishing inside a small food stall.