Nikolai left the shop with his pay tucked safely in his jacket. His mind didn't settle. Tomorrow felt off.
Stewart had told him just enough to make the job sound simple, but not enough to explain why he suddenly needed help.
That alone was strange. Stewart never trusted anyone with work that could bring real money.
Still, it didn't feel like a setup. If Stewart wanted him gone, there were easier ways.
And he had paid him upfront, half the promised cut. Stewart wasn't the type to hand out cash lightly. That meant he really wanted this done and done well.
Even so, Nikolai decided he'd play it smart. Whatever small "damage" he caused tomorrow, it had to look natural and unnoticeable. Subtle enough that a rich client wouldn't catch on but profitable enough to make Stewart happy.
As he walked back through the worn streets, he kept thinking. This was his first chance to test the waters, to see how far he could push in this world and how much he could gain without drawing dangerous attention.
Tomorrow wasn't just a job. It was information.
But the more Nikolai thought about it, the more doubt crept in.
He could just tell Stewart he'd made some adjustments without actually touching anything serious.
There was no reason to provoke someone powerful for no gain.
It was one thing to scam ordinary people or make small, quiet money.
But if tomorrow's client had real influence, angering him could end badly.
Unless Nikolai was certain he could get away with it, it wasn't worth the risk.
Even then, a part of him didn't trust Stewart. The man's desperation earlier hadn't felt normal. Stewart had looked nervous, almost scared. That alone made Nikolai want to stay cautious.
As Nikolai neared his apartment, a prickling feeling ran up his back. Someone was watching.
Or following.
His first thought went to the three thugs from yesterday.
Slowly, he slipped his injured hand into his jacket pocket, fingers closing around the knife.
He didn't stop or turn his head sharply, just glanced casually at windows, doorways, and the corners of the street while he kept moving at a steady pace.
Nikolai turned down one street, then another, weaving through side paths to check if anyone stayed behind him. Each turn felt quiet, but the uneasy feeling didn't leave.
By the time he reached his building, the back of his neck was still tight with caution.
He climbed the narrow stairs to his floor and stopped in front of his door.
The handle was broken.
Someone had forced their way in.
Paired with the feeling of being followed, the answer was obvious. The three thugs.
He didn't have other enemies here. From the memories he'd inherited, the old Nikolai hadn't crossed anyone else who would come after him.
Nikolai's grip tightened on the knife in his pocket.
Nikolai stayed in the hallway for a full minute, watching and listening.
He looked up and down the corridor, waiting to hear movement. There was nothing.
He crouched near the door and studied the handle. The lock was bent where someone had forced it.
The wood around the frame was splintered. Whoever came here knew what they were doing; it wasn't random damage.
He kept one hand on the knife in his pocket as he reached up and turned the handle slowly.
He pushed the door open just enough to see through the gap. The small apartment was dim, but everything looked still.
He didn't go in yet. He listened again. No sound.
He opened the door a little more and stayed close to the wall, stepping sideways into the room.
First, he checked behind the door, then the small kitchen area, the couch, and the corners where someone could hide.
He moved carefully, not rushing.
Next was the bedroom. He checked under the bed, then the closet, pulling the thin sliding door open with the knife ready. Nothing.
Finally, he checked the bathroom. Shower curtain, shelves, behind the door. Empty.
The apartment was clear, but not untouched. A chair was out of place by the table. One drawer wasn't fully closed. There were faint scuffs on the floor that weren't there before.
Someone had searched the place and left.
Nikolai closed and locked the door again, sliding the bolt in place even though the lock itself was broken.
He checked the windows, making sure they were shut. Only after that did he step back and take a slow breath.
Whoever broke in was probably the same group from yesterday. He didn't know why they hadn't stayed, but this was a warning.
He kept the knife in his hand and walked the apartment once more, checking for anything stolen or moved.
Nikolai finished his sweep and found nothing missing. Whoever had come in hadn't stolen anything of value.
They'd likely searched for cash and left when they didn't find enough to bother with.
But then why had he felt followed on the way home?
His thoughts broke off when a knock sounded at the door.
It was not the casual tap of a neighbor.
Nikolai's stomach tightened. No one visited him. The old Nikolai hadn't had friends, and there was no reason for someone to stop by.
He stepped back from the door, knife in hand. He stayed silent, listening. Another knock came, slower this time.
Whoever it was, they knew he was home.
He didn't speak. He moved quietly to the side of the door where he couldn't be seen through the peephole and listened. There was a faint scuff, maybe shoes shifting. Then a man's voice, low and rough:
"Kid… open up."
It wasn't a shout, but it wasn't friendly either.
Nikolai's grip tightened on the knife. He didn't answer.
Another voice joined the first. "We know you're in there. Let's talk."
It was them. The three from yesterday. They'd come back sooner than he thought.
He weighed his options. The door was damaged, not strong enough to hold if they decided to force it. If they wanted in, they could probably get in. But opening blindly was worse.
Nikolai stayed quiet, waiting to see what they would do next.