Colvin stepped out of the small room in the development center early. His black suit neat, collar crisp, and hair slicked back like oil on water.
He breathed in the morning chill and let it out slowly. In the mirror, he saw his face, pressed his fingers into his palms, and pretended nothing weighed heavy on his chest, though he felt tension building inside.
Matvey sat in a corner of the hall, alone and focused. When he spotted Colvin, he smiled softly. His sandy hair was long. His eyes were cool but seemed to understand you with one look.
He spoke slowly, making words stick. "I know what they said," Matvey said, handing him a snack. "They said you're the one who'll bring peace to a world full of evil. That's what we need."
Colvin looked up to meet his mentor's gaze. "You know I'm here for my new mission."
Matvey chuckled low. "You don't need to change for this. Be yourself, regardless of what happens. The plan is simple, remember? You'll go in as a guard, since they're already looking for one. You'll get access to the house, papers, people secretly dealing with them. We need to know where their money's going, what business they're hiding."
Outwardly, it was a simple order, but Colvin felt weight. He hid his surprise. "Why not change my name? Work with a different identity?"
"To be less conspicuous," Matvey said. "If you have another name, they'll suspect you. If you're known as one of my students, or just an ordinary Aesti guy. You'll blend in. I know changing form isn't needed for this mission to work. Stay as Colvin. Do a guard's job: watch, listen, observe. You need patience. And Colvin, your dream is to cut evil at its root."
Colvin's lips didn't part. He recalled the past, when he lost everything to a corrupt government. Matvey shaped him—planted wisdom, forged steel determination in him. There was very little reason for him to question his own master.
As he walked out of the building, he wondered why Matvey joined. Is it to monitor him? But, why? He has been taking minor tasks as an agent. This should be no problem to him.
Before they reached the big gates, an unexpected clamor echoed. People with placards and screams gathered at the Morozovs'. Faces were angry; some ran. Noise hit the air, bounced off walls. Colvin saw bruised hands, tears were either welling up in their eyes or streaming down their faces. Even a kid has blood on his knee.
The child's face stuck with Colvin—moments from a past he didn't share. He paused. He stepped back, unintentionally. Memories of a kid hiding behind a tree, neighbors scattering, a wall of silence broken by money and fear…
He didn't show it; not the time. But the scream and poor kid pushed him to a decision.
He could've stuck to his initial plan: get in, use tools, sneak. But something bigger kicked in.
If he showed kindness and gained trust, he'd get in with a reason—not as a threat. Playing the helper would get him close to Mr. Morozov, hopefully.
The original plan was fine, but a helper's face opens doors to countless paths.
Now he didn't act alone. He left the curb and approached the kid, amidst chaos. His voice was soft first, but the crowd stopped rallying. "Wait," he said gently. "Let's help him."
Hesitation hung in the air for a heartbeat, like the pause between a scream and its echo. Then, as if Colvin's words and charm had broken a spell, people moved. Some rushed forward with small acts of mercy—one brought a clean cloth to wipe the kid's knee, another fetched water, a girl with a backpack ruffled through it for antiseptic and bandages.
The crowd's anger, once a tidal wave, began to lap at the shores of concern. Shouts turned to murmurs. Eyes, wild a moment ago, softened as they looked at the bleeding child they'd almost trampled.
In the scramble to help, the Morozov protest lost its sharp edge. The people weren't just rebels anymore; they were neighbors helping a hurt kid. And Colvin, a stranger, was suddenly part of it—a calm center in the chaos they'd created.
To people, Colvin was just a guy helping. Some looked at him doubtfully. Some have whispered into their minds: maybe he's not sincere. Maybe he's part of it. But, it still granted him the opening that he needed.
As he helped, he noticed guards watching from afar. They respected kindness in chaos. His act was a small show of care, softening eyes that should've been security-hard.
Minutes passed. An old guard approached, asked directly: "You helped them?"
Colvin nodded. "I wanted to help. This helps the masses and you, right?"
His words were simple, clear. Yet, they didn't show which side he belongs to. He was a peace bringer in almost everyone's eyes. Security managers decided to let him in—to explain, help as a community rep.
That wasn't the outcome he'd calculated back then. Not the original plan, but he saw why it fit. After all, the mission wasn't just getting in. It was gaining trust and sniffing secrets.
Before entering, Matvey looked at him and offered a small nod. Smiling with quiet resolve, he whispered like a promise cut into stone: "You'll change this world."
Matvey's words had no edge. To others, just praise. To Colvin, it was a reminder of his role.
Colvin held onto Matvey's words like a promise, a spark of recognition igniting within him. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was just the beginning – a doorway to a labyrinth of secrets.
Matvey stopped, pointing down the corridor, his gaze lingering on Colvin. "Interview's there. They're expecting you," he said, his voice low and steady.
Colvin nodded, his eyes locking onto the hallway, a silent understanding passing between them. The air was heavy with unspoken expectations, and Colvin knew that the wait was over. It was time to take the next step.
Matvey vanished up the stairs, his footsteps swallowed by the shadows. Colvin stayed in the building's middle, alone with cold silence and distant footsteps. He breathed deep and walked to the corridor.
As he left the hall, people's noise faded. The floor was smooth, walls clean with old official pictures. Window light swept his face; with each step, air felt heavier.
Mid-corridor, a figure appeared—a woman with a cane. Her pace is slow, unhurried. The two stopped like an invisible wall appeared between them. The air thickened, heavy with the weight of unspoken words.
Her hair was almost white, glinking with window light, messy yet ethereal like cloud strands whispering against skin. To touch, it would be like silk flowing against your skin. Cool at first, then warming to the fingers like a winter breeze in spring. Her eyes, blue as a morning sky after rain, looked straight through him. She's measuring not his face but the spaces within his soul.
No emotion first. No smile.
"Colvin did not look away; he fixed his eyes on her as if looking away would break the fragile silence. He said nothing, though a strange and wordless tide was building in his chest, a feeling that had no name beyond its weight. It was like a song that had been forgotten, a song that had almost broken the silence of his mind. And then, like a candle in a sudden draft, the memory flickered and was gone in the dark.
Seconds have passed. Still silent.
The corner of her mouth lifted in a ghost of a smile, a private twitch of amusement that excluded him entirely. It was not a greeting, it was a taunt, and she wore it like a stolen treasure, shining with the knowledge of a secret only she knew.
She gave no words, no final breath of explanation. She merely looked at him, a long, searching look that was like a test, and then she turned and walked away. But as she walked, the line of her lips remained, a sharp, ghostly fixture in the air she'd just vacated, like she'd unpinned them and left them there, a jagged little souvenir to keep him company in the silence that followed.
Colvin stayed standing. Odd weight in his chest, but he let it be. Not the time to dwell on it.
He forced his legs to move, to walk along the length of the hall. Finally, he reached the threshold. The transition was violent. Silence gave way to a wave of muffled sounds and frenzied movements. It was a cavernous space, filled with a sea of people, much further along than he had expected.
Men and women stood in straight, endless lines, dressed in fine clothes but holding their papers in a manner that was akin to desperation. There was no shouting or shoving, but a tension hung in the air, a vibrating quiet, a silent war.
Each waited for a call, a chance, space inside Morozov's.
Colvin stopped at the end. For the first time since entering, he realized how hard the next step was. And how many eyes he'd have to pass.