It was already past ten when Roman heard the knock on the door.
"Come in," he said calmly, placing the glass on the table.
The door opened slowly. A man entered and stopped a meter away.
Roman leaned back on the couch. "How did it go?"
"He knew," the man said. He stepped forward and placed a phone on the table.
Roman picked it up and checked. Photos. Paul Vaxlar waiting on the street. A shopping bag in his hand. Talking to a girl.
Nothing special. He tossed the phone back onto the table.
"Did he catch you?"
"Yes. He waited inside the washroom."
Roman scoffed slightly. "And what did he say?"
"He wants me to deliver every detail at his place."
Roman frowned. An invisible piano played under his finger, as he thought for a moment. Then replied, "Alright. You'll do what he wants. That should keep him away from everything."
"Yes, sir."
Roman closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, the man was still standing there.
"Anything else?"
The man reached into his jacket. He took something, and slowly placed it on the table.
A fork.
…
Her footsteps were quick. The phone was tightly clutched in her hand, as she checked the time every two seconds. She couldn't be late, she told herself.
She stopped right behind the door, and closed her eyes, steadying her breathing.
"Everything's fine."
She pushed open the door. It made no sound. Inside was a long white table, surrounded by lots of chairs. Sunlight poured in from the windows. And a guy was turning his head slowly towards her.
He looked younger than her, sixteen or seventeen, no more.
He raised a hand, as if he knew her. But she didn't know him.
She awkwardly lifted her hand to greet him, but stopped.
"Stay composed."
She walked steadily, and took a seat a little further from him, to avoid any unnecessary chatter.
Silence settled between them, but it was quickly broken by a tap on the table. She didn't look.
"Sup."
She glanced at him, nodding once.
"So you're also joining today." His words stopped for a moment, then continued. "You look too nervous."
"I'm not." The words slipped past her guard.
"Heh..." He smirked. "Well, I'm too, so don't you worry. You know what my mother used to say?" He turned towards her, "Whenever you are feeling troubled, just remember you're not the only one."
"I said, I'm not troubled or anything, alright?" She replied sharply this time. "Just shut your mouth for a second."
"Alright, alright." He raised his hands in surrender. "But you also need to chill."
Then footsteps echoed lightly. Both turned their attention to the door.
A woman in her mid-twenties was walking towards them. A tablet was in her hand, her eyes glancing at them for a brief moment, as she sat down at the end of the row.
She checked the screen for a moment. Then her head lifted up.
"Julian," she said calmly.
"That's me," he replied with confidence.
"Sara." The woman's eyes moved.
"Yes," Sara answered with a little hesitant tone.
The woman conducted a brief interview with them both. As it concluded, she offered a gentle smile and said, "Don't worry too much. Your presence here signifies that you are both adequately qualified."
They both nodded firmly.
"Alright then," she clasped her hands lightly, "I'll speak with the Head. In the meantime, feel free to explore the facilities. It's better than simply sitting still, wouldn't you agree?"
The door opened once more.
Sara's head snapped around. She saw a young man, seemingly her age, but much more composed.
"You're late," the woman stated, slowly rising.
"Yes, I was running behind." His gaze then fell upon the two new individuals. "Are you already finished?"
"Yes," she replied, picking up the tablet and beginning to walk away. "I'll be going upstairs to submit the report. Perhaps you could show them around a bit?"
He nodded gently
…
The bell rang.
The teacher left the classroom, leaving behind noise filled with students chattering about their lives. Chairs scraped. Books closed. Then the sound faded into the hallway.
Varsha cast a suspicious glance at him before exiting the classroom.
He didn't care to notice. That could wait, he thought.
Silence settled.
Only him.
But no. She was still there. Sitting at her seat, writing something in a notebook.
A diary.
She didn't seem to notice that the lunch bell had already rung. Or maybe she didn't care. Like him.
He stood up and started walking toward her. Curious, despite himself, about what she was writing.
Halfway there, his mood shifted.
He turned and walked toward the exit instead.
She didn't call out to him, like he was expecting her to be. Or maybe he had gotten used to her behavior.
He stopped at the threshold, and waited. Still nothing. She was still writing, focused on her own world.
He glanced one last time before leaving….
…
It was nine o'clock, and the hospital appeared to be running smoothly, as it should. That was Sara's initial impression upon stepping inside.
However, she knew better. Places like this always present a composed facade. Just like a clock hanging on the wall, ticking smoothly, but once opened, revealing its inner workings, the true mechanics become apparent.
She was dressed in casual attire, a strap bag slung around her neck, which she adjusted slowly. People moved with perfect rhythm as she walked past the reception desk. Had she already blended in? Or did people simply not care?
She didn't even detect the slightest glance directed her way.
It was only her second day, but she could already discern how this place differed from Corsalis.
She recalled the late-night conversation they'd had.
Simon had emphasized the need for speed and covering as much ground as possible. She was assigned to medical facilities and hospitals.
Julian would handle the docks. The rest would be managed by him personally.
He didn't waste words. His voice conveyed the same certainty she recognized. But something still clouded her mind—why?
Why was Simon acting so quickly? Why were they in such a rush? As if someone were chasing them, or the person they were following kept running further away?
She quickly dismissed the thoughts, reasoning, "If anything goes wrong, he would tell us. He is not like him."
She took the stairs to the second floor. The hallway stretched long, white light brightening everything ahead. A patient in a wheelchair went inside a room. A nurse passed by her with a tray in her hand.
Then, her footsteps slowed down just a little. Her eyes landed on the door up ahead. It read, "Storage Room."
She walked closer toward the door, then a nurse exited from a different room. Sara quickly stopped, averting her attention. She picked up a magazine from the table.
She pretended to read, but her gaze kept focused on the nurse walking toward her. The magazine was about the hospital, talking about its achievements, doctors, and the miracle patients who survived fatal surgeries.
The nurse walked closer and closer, stopping right in front of the storage room. She turned the knob once, opened the door, and stepped inside, letting the door close itself.
The door swung back as it started to close slowly, then it stopped just inches away from locking itself.
Sara's boot stopped it. She didn't waste any time and quickly went inside. The door closed shut.
A minute passed, and there was nothing but silence. A doctor exited from his office, a clipboard in his hand, which he was reading carefully as he reached for the stairs and went to the lower floor. Next, a young teen appeared at a fast stride, a plastic bag clutched tightly in his hand; inside were medicines and bandages for his family. He also disappeared into a long stretched hallway.
Then, the door of the storage room creaked open slowly. A pair of eyes examined the hallway first, then a figure came out in a white, clean dress worn by nurses.
Sara closed the door with steady hands, taking steps toward the next room.
Patients lay on the beds. Families were talking. Nurses held glucose bottles. A doctor examined the patients.
"Nothing worth checking here," Sara decided.
She repeated the same movements over and over, checking and leaving, until she caught onto something. She moved to the higher floor.
The silence here felt more suffocating; the sound of her steps landing on the floor became clearer. She exhaled slightly.
Her steps stopped at the end. The look of tiredness was real on her face. She didn't even bother looking at the nameplate and twisted the knob. It didn't open like the rest.
She glanced sideways at the nameplate: "Pharmacy Advisor."
"Hm," she scoffed and took out two small metal tools from her pocket. She bent down slightly. While fiddling with the lock, her gaze moved towards the hallway.
No one was in her sights.
She heard the faint click and quickly straightened up, placing the tools back in their place. The door opened slightly, then she swung it wide.
"There better be something."
Inside, the room was neat and composed, like it was trying to cover its wrong deeds. No windows. Only a fan spinning lazily, beneath that a desk stood motionless. A computer facing the other side. To the left side were sealed boxes arranged with obsessive neatness.
She pushed the door close with her leg, and stepped forward.
The screen was open. She felt something off, but quickly brushed it. Her hands moved at the mouse, before pushing the chair aside. She bent forward and checked the documents.
Inventory logs filled the screen. Rows of medicine names, batch numbers, dates. Most of it looked routine. Painkillers. Antibiotics.
She scrolled.
Then slowed.
One entry stood out, because of the repetition. The same compound, delivered in small quantities, far more frequently than others.
She clicked.
A new window opened. Delivery routes. Storage transfer approvals. Sign-offs.
Administrative clearance. She noted that down in her memory.
She checked the other documents, until her eyes flickered at the corner of the screen.
Five minutes had already passed. She thought of leaving quickly. Her body straightened up, she cleared all the tabs and took a step. Then her eyes moved to the left.
Sealed boxes. And in a corner a curtain. She walked towards it, then lifted it up. A door. But it was locked with a digital fingerprint, and passcode.
She stood still for a moment.
"Something's definitely in there."