A long conversation had ended. Lars finished his breakfast, took a shower, and got dressed; he was ready to go out and look for the boy. Marcus and Viktor were waiting for him on the living room sofa, each preparing for the day in their own way: Marcus still rubbing his eyes from sleep, and Viktor calmly flipping through some papers.
Without looking up, Viktor said to Marcus: "According to what Klein told us, Von Hohenwald has no direct connection with the Minister of Security. So why would he contact Dominion to find the minister's son?"
Marcus frowned and set his cup down on the table. "It's strange," he murmured. "But we're already here. Our job is to find the boy. Once we have him, maybe the pieces will start to fit."
At that moment, Lars appeared in the room, his gaze clear and posture firm. He approached the sofa and let the silence settle among them.
"All right," he said. "Shall we begin? William was clear: the Burj Khalifa is the first place we need to investigate."
Marcus jumped to his feet. "And how are we supposed to get in?" he asked with his usual practical logic. "That place isn't for just anyone; only residents and private events."
Viktor stood up slowly, resting his back against the sofa. "Don't underestimate my resources," he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "My shadow does the dirty work—it goes where we want without leaving a trace. I can see rooms, schedules, guest lists... getting tickets won't be a problem."
Lars interrupted him, studying Viktor's figure for a second. "Ideally, we should identify the man who has the boy and sneak into one of his parties. We need to know if he uses the Burj Khalifa as a party palace or if he lives there. If he's a resident, it'll be harder—but not impossible."
Viktor walked toward the door with a calm step, his eyes fixed on the city lights visible through the window. "That's why I mentioned my shadow," he repeated. "I can enter the control room, check the cameras, snoop through the records. We'll do this quietly."
He opened the door and, with his gaze fixed on his two companions, added: "Let's go."
The three left the apartment with a clear purpose: the city of Dubai awaited them, and somewhere among the lights and glass, there was the clue that would lead them to the boy.
The heat of noon greeted them as soon as they stepped outside. Dubai seemed like a mirage—an ocean of glass and steel devouring the horizon. Luxury cars glided down the avenue with an almost unreal silence, and the air shimmered from the mix of sand and burning asphalt.
Marcus unlocked the car they had rented the previous night, a black sedan that didn't attract too much attention. Viktor took the passenger seat; Lars, in the back seat, watched through the window the distant silhouette of the Burj Khalifa rising like a needle piercing the sky.
No one spoke during the drive. There was something solemn about the idea of entering one of the most guarded places on the planet. Lars thought of William's words, the seer's warning: "A powerful man has him…"
When they arrived at the skyscraper, the contrast was immediate: the perfumes in the lobby, the metallic sound of suitcases, the guards in immaculate suits. Viktor observed every movement with an almost inhuman calm.
"Don't act like we're looking for something," he murmured. "Just follow my lead."
Marcus nodded, hiding his tension with a professional smile. Lars stayed silent, evaluating every detail: the cameras in the halls, the exit routes, the elevators controlled by digital cards.
Viktor stopped in front of a side corridor leading to the service area. His eyes darkened for an instant, as if a liquid shadow covered them. He extended a hand, and from his fingers slid a dark, shapeless figure that crawled along the wall until it disappeared through a crack.
"It's inside," he said quietly. "Give me a few minutes."
The shadow traveled between pipes and ducts until it reached the monitoring room. Lars could barely perceive it, but he felt a faint vibration in the air—an echo of darkness.
It was the first time he had seen Viktor's ability so closely. It wasn't just a trick; there was something alive in that shadow. Something that responded more to instinct than command.
"Has your power always been like that?" Lars asked.
Viktor didn't answer right away. His gaze stayed fixed on an invisible point. "No," he finally said. "Before, the shadow followed me... now it obeys me. Besides, it's very intuitive—it sees things no one else sees."
Marcus gestured toward the staff nearby. "While the shadow works, what do we do?""Wait and watch," Viktor replied.
"If the boy or his captor are registered here, we'll know soon."
Silence returned, but it wasn't empty. Lars felt the same pressure in his chest that he had the night before, when he discovered the limit of his own power. He looked at his hands and remembered the black flames that devoured the cards—the heat that didn't burn.
What if my power also hides something I don't yet understand?
A doubt that wouldn't go away.
After a few minutes, Viktor opened his eyes fully, and a faint smile crossed his face."Got it. There's a guest on the 144th floor with permanent escorts—three of them armed. And he has a child with him... registered as family."
He turned to Lars. "Looks like our seer friend wasn't wrong."
"How do you know it's them?" Marcus asked, frowning.
At that moment, the shadow returned to Viktor and vanished at his feet. "The guests of this skyscraper are registered with images of those who live here," he explained with a slight confident smile. Then he winked at Marcus. "And among those images were the boy's... and the man's."
Lars touched his shoulder, surprised.
"How did you find it so fast? There must be a mountain of records."
"I told you, my shadow is very intuitive. Sometimes I think it knows exactly where the information I'm looking for is," Viktor replied with an almost amused tone. Then he started walking, followed by the other two.
They approached a stern-faced woman working at reception. Viktor spoke in polished, friendly English:
"Excuse me, could you tell me where the At.mosphere restaurant is?"
Marcus and Lars exchanged a quick glance, slightly confused by the sudden shift in tone.
The woman looked them over with mild disdain, though all three were elegantly dressed. "Do you have reservations?" she asked with a forced smile.
"Yes, they're on my phone, but I forgot which floor it's on," Viktor replied with a convincingly nervous laugh.
"Very well. Take the elevator. The restaurant is on the one hundred twenty-second floor."
She gestured toward the elevators, uninterested.
Viktor gave her a polite smile. "Thank you. Have a good day."
The three headed for the elevator. The steel doors closed slowly, reflecting their faces under the golden light from the ceiling.
They were alone. Only a faint hum filled the silence as the elevator began to rise.
Viktor leaned slightly toward them, careful not to look directly at the camera in the upper corner."The residence records show the man and the boy live on the one hundred eighth floor… suite one-zero-eight dash zero-four," he whispered, barely moving his lips.
Marcus nodded slightly, eyes fixed on the button panel.
Lars leaned in closer, speaking in the same low tone.
"Did you really have tickets for the restaurant?"
A smile formed on Viktor's face. "Of course. I got three tickets for today… as a birthday gift."Marcus raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Birthday? Wait… tomorrow is your birthday?"Viktor nodded, amused.
"I had completely forgotten," Marcus said, laughing quietly. "If we get out of this alive, I'll buy you a bottle."
"Deal," Viktor replied, his smile barely visible before the doors opened onto the restaurant floor.
They entered At.mosphere with the discretion such a place demanded: measured steps, glances that didn't linger too long. The restaurant's reception was a small stage of elegance: a well-dressed woman greeted them with a polite smile. "Good afternoon, your tickets please."
Viktor showed the tickets, they were scanned, and she nodded calmly, guiding them through a carpeted hallway to a table by the window overlooking the illuminated city.
They were seated in a semi-private booth; the city's view stretched below them like a carpet of lights. A waiter appeared quickly, placed the menus on the table, and left with professional grace after Marcus said, "We'll call you when we're ready."
The murmur of the room and the distant piano created an atmosphere of opulence that, for them, now smelled like a well-hidden trap.
While they slowly browsed the menu, Viktor glanced at the floor and, without seeming to move from his seat, separated his shadow from the outline of his body. It was an imperceptible gesture—a faint tremor in the dimness beneath the table—and the shadow slid like a thought toward the edge of the carpet. No one at the table noticed: Marcus muttered a joke, Lars lifted his glass, and the world continued its elegant routine.
Beneath the table, the shadow stretched and slipped through the floor cracks until it touched the marble of the hallway. It needed no elevator, no card; the shadow passed through the building's planes as if it were a column of darkness it could glide through weightlessly. The three men stayed still, pretending to chat; outside, the city sparkled. Inside, the shadow descended, crossed several floors with the precision of an old mole, until it reached the one hundred eighth floor.
There it found the suite: a discreetly numbered door, an electronic lock that would seem impenetrable to anyone but a guest. The shadow didn't need to force anything—it brushed along the line of the door and slipped carefully inside, merging with the inner darkness. The apartment was enormous, luxury measured in every corner: minimalist furniture, art pieces worth more than Viktor had ever seen in his life. At first glance, the scene seemed deserted; silence resonated with the softness of fabrics and the murmur of air conditioning.
But the shadow, able to blend with any dimness, sensed movement: faint steps coming from the kitchen. Following the sound like a scent, it slid to a column and stuck to its side, observing. A well-dressed man, moving with the posture of someone who never runs but always commands, spoke on the phone in English, unaware of the intrusion. "Yes, the party will be tomorrow night. The tickets are at the reception," he said calmly. He walked a few steps, sat on a sofa, and continued, "They're purple tickets. You'll see them when you reach the reception and give your name. All right, see you tomorrow night. Goodbye."
He hung up and, as if the room needed a more human sound, raised his voice in a call. "Lukas, come here." The order was simple, casual—and a boy appeared from a side hallway. It was him: the face from the photo Lars had, the same mix of innocence and mystery they'd been following. Lukas approached timidly, holding a toy; behind him, two figures—security, discreetly stationed—stood at the edge of sight.
Viktor's shadow stayed hidden in the column's dimness, watching every gesture, every word, every pattern of movement. It learned when the man stood, how the guards shifted. Then, with the same subtlety, the shadow retreated the way it had come, leaving the suite exactly as it was, and rose again through the building's layers until it returned beneath the table at At.mosphere, where Viktor looked at the menu, fingers interlaced over the page.
He brushed the shadow from his outline with a simple gesture that no one noticed. His smile was just slightly wider—carrying that cold certainty only those who see more than others possess.
"It's done," Viktor said, fixing his gaze on Lars and Marcus. "Our target has been found. We'll be able to take him sooner than we thought."
Marcus let out a muffled exclamation that passed for surprise and relief; Lars, the shock still pounding in his chest, nodded silently. Outside, the city kept shining, indifferent. Inside, their task had taken a tangible shape: a name, a suite, a boy. Now began the part where shadows and choices would make all the difference.