I was standing... but the ground shook inside me.
No words, no explanation.
In that silent moment, I realized something harsh:
I am not important.
I exaggerate my fear, delude myself into thinking I can make a difference... but no one listens.
In critical moments, masks fall, and the truth is revealed.
Our value to others is not as we imagine.
I stood at the corridor's edge and asked myself:
Is it enough to just take care of myself?
Filip suddenly appeared, his face tense, eyes anxious:
– What is it? What happened?
I told him what happened at the center.
He was extremely angry.
I hesitated to tell him the story of Jan and Bach, for I had promised Szymon I wouldn't.
I tried to calm him down:
– We don't know the full truth yet... don't get involved.
Zuzanna always supported him.
I understand his anger, but he shouldn't rush.
He thought for a moment, then asked me about Mir's behavior.
I told him she'd been acting strangely lately.
He confirmed he was starting to doubt her intentions too.
He said firmly:
– We have to do something... we can't stay with our hands tied.
I told him I had asked for help, but to no avail.
He was surprised and asked:
– How did you get out of here?
I told him everything in detail.
I was trembling, but I finally said it:
– Should we run away?
Burn this damn orphanage down and be done with it?
Maybe we'll be separated... sent to another place, and maybe it will be worse.
But that's fine.
There's no harm in trying.
***On the other side, not far from the orphanage, faint laughter echoed from the direction of the camp. One tent seemed full of life—yet the reality was far from it.
Inside, only Blanco, the white dog, sat quietly in the darkness.
In the boss's tent, another sound played—recordings broadcast intentionally from both tents. One figure sat in the seat of command, alone, eyes steady. It was Luca.
He spoke firmly into the walkie-talkie:
"I'm sorry, but this order cannot be refused."
The voice on the other end replied:
"You should've refused the mission—or at least informed me. We've strayed far from our objective."
Luca, unchanging:
"It was classified. And you—would you have disobeyed an order, Shadow?"
A soft laugh, then the voice muttered:
"It's over, Scorpion… Watch your back."
The line went dead.
Luca inhaled deeply and whispered,
"The celebration will begin soon…"
In the background, a girl's voice—Karina—echoed from an old recording of camp days. Luca remained. Only he and Blanco.
The others… had gone.
*** On the Train to Germany
The rest of the group sat quietly as the train sped forward.
Malik broke the silence:
"Boss, I don't understand… Why did Luca choose to stay behind? He must've grown fond of that country."
Jack, grinning slyly:
"Or maybe... he left behind a lover he wanted to say goodbye to—his own special way."
Bill sighed, speaking with hesitation:
"About what happened last night… I know I—" (He trailed off.)
Mikael opened his eyes slowly and turned to him:
"Cautious fighting was never cowardice. Why take risks when we can achieve the same result… in silence?"
Then added:
"Come on, Bill. What's holding you back? Speak."
Bill, ashamed:
"I'm sorry, boss. I lost control… Thank you for stepping in."
Mikael turned to the window, fell silent, then whispered inwardly:
"What is this feeling? I've done nothing different... and yet, I feel like I'm losing something... something mine."
Though everyone longed for confrontation, the commander chose the quiet path forward.
Flashback — Memory.
"Boss, dinner seems to be ready," said Earl.
Mikael answered calmly,
"Good. Bill, inform them I'll be right there."
Two men from Master's group barged in, ignoring Bill's instructions. Laughing, they handled the personal items carelessly.
"Whoa! Is this a Zakopane deer horn?"
"Black deer! That's rare—insane find!"
Jack watched them coldly. Bill, irritated, snapped:
"Seems you're overstepping."
One of them smirked:
"And who are you to say? You're not even from here… yet you're on our land."
Mikael emerged—calm, but with firm authority.
"What exactly do you mean by that?"
The men laughed nervously:
"Just joking, sir… his reaction was just too funny!"
One added:
"We came to escort you, sir."
Mikael replied:
"Go ahead. I'll catch up. There's something I need to handle."
They left with mocking smiles, their talk growing more disturbing—"Human hunting's better than animals," one said. The other mentioned children. Their steps grew heavier.
Just before disappearing, they made a crude gesture at Rona, the dog, who barked furiously.
Bill couldn't contain himself.
He drew his knife and lunged instinctively toward one of them—
But Mikael intervened, grabbing the blade by its sharp edge, cutting his hand.
He seized Bill by the neck, pulled him close and said firmly:
"Bill… not now. Your strength is your calm. What's wrong with you? I need you ready, not emotional."
Bill lowered his head in shame, fury still simmering inside him.
At The Feast,
Rafal joked as he saw Mikael's injured hand:
"Is that a fresh wound?"
Mikael smiled, looking at his bleeding finger:
"I tried to get you something special. It's Bigos. I also made Beef Wellington… I think you'll enjoy it."
Rafal chuckled:
"I heard you're quite the cook. Dad said you used to be the cooker of your master for years."
Mikael gazed warmly at the memory—though Rafal meant to humilate him. He softly replied:
"You mean my master… and my father. Yes. He built a unique world. I'm sure your father was grateful—he used to beg for a meeting for days."
(Rafal, thinking: "We're even now. ,one bye one.")
Then said aloud:
"You know I'm not like my father—a coward bound by politics. I want expansion. I want to knock on every door. But right now… I want your help to grow my trade in the West. Things are different there—fiercer competition. Here, everything's become… monotonous."
***As the conversation shifted, Mikael mentioned Bach—
The prisoner was finally allowed to stand. He was escorted to a vehicle.
Later, as the feast ended and people returned, a man brushed lightly against Mikael.
"My apologies, sir," he said, overly polite.
On the way back, Mikael noticed something near his feet—a large hazelnut.
He bent down, smiling, but something felt off…
His watch chain was loose—cut.
He checked his pockets.
Empty.
He sighed and muttered:
"Damn it."
Then smirked slightly and signaled to Bill, who nodded.
A silent order was passed to Luca, who vanished and returned moments later—grabbing the same man.
"Going somewhere?" Luca asked, with a sly grin.
The crowd froze.
Rafal burst out, furious:
"What is this? Luca, explain yourself!"
The others gathered around. Earl, meanwhile, slipped silently into sniper position behind them.
Bill shouted:
"Your man here—he's the one who should explain. What did he just do?"
All eyes turned to the nervous man, who said nothing. But his eyes betrayed him.
Mikael, coldly:
"You heard what it means to me. So don't blame me for what comes next."
He approached the man and whispered:
"Is it in your right pocket… or the left?"
The man stammered:
"I didn't take it, sir!"
Mikael drew a jagged knife—shark-toothed and crude.
"Then… I'll choose. Right pocket."
Just as he was about to strike, the man shrieked:
"No! Please! It's in the inner coat pocket! Forgive me, sir—I was tempted by greed… I beg you…"
He cried out:
"Master Rafal! I—"
Rafal froze, eyes blazing, fearing exposure, He interrupted him threateningly.
"You should have thought before doing something so shameful! What about the people waiting for you at home?"
Under his breath, Rafal muttered to himself:
"Idiot... You should've been more careful."
Silence fell.
The man stood paralyzed, drained of color.
He lowered his head and swallowed the words he was about to speak.
Rafal barked:
"Speak! What were you going to say?"
He added theatrically:
"How many times must I be betrayed? How much more of your unforgivable mistakes must I bear?"
He kicked the man once—then again.
The Man:
"I'm sorry, sir... I'm sorry, but I just..."
In a split second, Rafal moved like lightning.
He grabbed a gun from the belt of one of the nearby men, aimed without hesitation, and fired.
One shot.
To the head.
The man collapsed to the ground, and shock paralyzed everyone.
The bystanders took a step back—some gasped, others froze in stunned silence.
The echo of the gunshot still rang in their heads, their eyes wide with disbelief.
Rafal stood still, not looking at the body but straight at Mikael, as if awaiting judgment.
Mikael stepped forward slowly, his brows furrowed, his eyes burning with anger.
Mikael:
"What have you done?!"
Rafal, coldly:
"I've forgiven many… but those who dare harm my guests will not go unpunished."
Then he glanced at the ground for a moment and thought to himself:
"Damn it... Mikolaj… my best pickpocket, lost to his own foolishness."
End of Flashback.
Malik, sharply:
"Earl, stop going through my stuff. You know how sensitive I am about this. That's the second time."
Earl, anxiously:
"The third, damn it! I've turned everything upside down!"
Jack:
"What's wrong? What's going on?"
Earl, muttering like he can't believe it:
"This can't be… it never happens."
Jack:
"What are you talking about?"
Earl, in a low voice:
"My gun... my precious gun. It's gone."
Malik:
"No way... Was it stolen? Or did you lose it?"
Earl, visibly shaken:
"No... it can't have been stolen… it's a family heirloom!"
Jack, mockingly:
"Heirloom? You mean it's all you've got."
Earl, angry:
"Damn you, Jacky! Either help me search or shut up!"
They started searching, frowns etched on their faces… but nothing was found.
Bill, calmly:
"Did you have it on you last night?"
Earl, trying to recall:
"Yes... or no... I don't remember."
Jack, sarcastically:
"Of course not… you take it out to polish it every hour!"
Earl, running his hand through his hair:
"Don't exaggerate… I only do that when I'm not busy."
Malik, raising an eyebrow:
"I don't think you forgot it. You brought your shoulder holster—that alone means it either fell somewhere... or it was empty to begin with....."