Aiden limped a few meters farther, still hurting from the fall. Every step was a tug that climbed up his leg and bit into his back. He breathed in broken bursts, as if the air had weight.
A few seconds later, he could make out the hill.
Down below, inside the car, Kael let out a muffled snort, stifled by the pain he’d been dragging along since earlier. He took out a cigarette, lit it, and let the smoke slip out through the half-open window, trying to fake calm.
Then the creak of a door opening broke the stillness.
AKael leaned his head back, tired even of looking.
Aiden dropped into the seat with a dull thud, panting, and shut the door behind him. He stayed like that, the back of his neck pressed to the headrest, his gaze lost somewhere far away.
Kael pulled the cigarette away from his lips.
“You managed to survive.”
There was a brief, heavy silence.
Aiden drew in air, as if he had to gather it from someplace deeper.
“Barely…” he murmured.
Kael crushed the cigarette in the ashtray with a dry motion.
“We have to go.”
Minutes passed on the road.
The world outside became a dark stripe, interrupted only by distant lights that stretched and vanished in time with the engine.
Aiden blinked slowly.
His eyelids grew heavy, treacherous.
And then, without warning, the image returned.
The Exterminator standing in front of him. The hard stare. The deep voice, ringing louder than the blows.
“You still think you can choose how much you lose…”
Aiden tried to cling to the memory, to understand it, but the sentence fell apart before it could finish. As if he still wasn’t ready to accept what it implied.
His breathing began to steady.
His body, exhausted, finally gave in.
As he slipped into sleep, the last thought crossed his mind, faint but persistent:
What if he’s right…?
He fell asleep, being covered by the golden dust.
Kael noticed by the slight sway of his head. Sensing the dust again, he looked without saying anything. He only took off his jacket and laid it over him, covering him.
He watched him for a second, barely.
Then he locked his eyes back on the steering wheel, as if he couldn’t afford to think too much.
Later into the night, Kael stopped the car in front of a house.
He got out stiffly, teeth clenched. He went around the vehicle, opened the passenger door, and with effort lifted Aiden. The weight pulled a groan from him that he tried to swallow.
He walked to the entrance. Every step was a reminder of his wounds.
He rang the doorbell.
A few seconds later, the door opened.
Nicole appeared with her hair tied back, her face tired, and when she saw the scene she froze for a moment: an unconscious boy in his arms… and Kael’s face hardened with pain.
Nicole stared at him.
“Kael… why do you always do this?”
Even so, she moved fast. She opened the door wider and helped him inside, holding Aiden so he wouldn’t hit anything.
As they walked, Nicole burned him with her eyes.
“Why are you dragging him into this? Can’t you see he’s a kid?”
Kael swallowed.
“He passed out in the car,” he said. “But… it looks like last time. He’s probably healing or something.”
Nicole clenched her jaw.
“That doesn’t make him any less of a kid.”
Kael lowered his voice, not looking at her.
“Believe me… this isn’t a normal kid. He’s more capable than he wants to look.”
Nicole let out a breath, irritated, and settled Aiden into a room.
“Even so, you don’t measure consequences, Kael.”
Kael stayed in the doorway like he didn’t know where to put his hands.
“I don’t regret it,” he admitted. “But it was safer to bring him here.”
Nicole watched him for a moment, searching for something in his face. Then, tired, she let it go.
Kael told her what had happened in short phrases, without embellishment. Nicole listened in silence, as if each detail added weight to her shoulders.
In the end, she shook her head.
“I’m going to sleep,” she said. “It’s late.”
Kael nodded.
“Yeah.”
Nicole left without saying anything else.
And when the house fell silent, Kael went into another room, shut the door, and stood in front of a blank wall.
He pulled out notes, clippings, names. He pinned them up one by one, drawing connections, invisible lines.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Atlas Avenue. South Ring Road. Tuesday. Shipments.
His gaze hardened.
“Those warehouses…” he murmured. “They’re the key.”
To finally know the truth.
In a long hallway lit by white lights where everything looked too uniform, Andrick sat on a three-seat metal bench lined up against the wall. He took up only one seat. He kept his back straight and his hands clasped over his abdomen, motionless, as if he’d been there longer than he actually had.
He wasn’t looking at anything in particular. His gaze rested on an undefined spot on the floor. Around him, the place breathed with a constant murmur: distant footsteps, radios crackling, doors opening and closing with a sharp sound.
A bit farther ahead, three police officers leaned by a coffee machine, talking without lowering their voices. One of them spoke, catching Andrick’s attention:
“Lots of people say things are bad,” the rookie commented, staring at the paper cup in his hands. “That it can’t be changed.”
The other raised an eyebrow, amused.
“Uh-huh.”
The kid hesitated a second before continuing.
“But if those of us down here don’t do something different… nothing up there is ever going to change. Someone has to take the first step.”
There was a short pause.
Then a brief laugh.
“Save that faith, rookie,” one of them said. “Around here it lasts less than a clean uniform.”
The second gave him a friendly pat on the back.
“Give it a few months,” he added. “It’ll pass.”
Andrick didn’t react right away.
He only shifted his gaze slightly, as if that last sentence had crossed the air and struck something deeper than his ear.
For an instant, that voice stopped belonging to the hallway.
The classroom was full.
The murmur of overlapping conversations filled the space while some students traded papers, others checked their phones, and a couple argued in low voices about something completely unrelated to class. Andrick sat in one of the middle rows, relaxed against the backrest, absentmindedly spinning a pencil between his fingers.
The teacher walked slowly in front of the board, talking about different topics. Until he said something that touched something inside Andrick.
“Waiting for change to come from above,” the teacher said, without raising his voice, “is the most elegant way to do nothing.”
Some students kept talking. Others looked at the clock. A short laugh slipped from the back of the room, automatic, without malice.
The teacher stopped.
“If you really want to change the world…” he continued, “start by not looking like it when nobody’s watching.”
The pencil stopped spinning.
Andrick leaned forward slightly. His shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly, like something had just aligned inside him. His hands went still on the desk.
His eyes shone.
Not with exaggerated emotion, but with absolute, clean attention. As if, for the first time, someone was saying out loud something he’d always felt, but had never managed to put into words.
“Mr. Andrick.”
The voice yanked him out of the memory.
He blinked once. The hallway materialized again in front of him: gray walls, white light, the distant echo of footsteps.
An officer stood beside him, holding a folder against his chest.
“You can go in now.”
Andrick nodded, adjusting his suit and standing.
As he walked, the phrase was still there, echoing in some quiet place in his mind, intact, as if time hadn’t been able to wear it down.
The door opened.
Blue hallway light spilled into the room as the door swung open, lighting Andrick’s face for an instant. His eyes scanned the interior quickly: bare metal walls, absolute silence, a table bolted to the floor, and a single chair facing it. Nothing else.
He took a couple of steps inside.
“If you need anything, knock on the door,” the officer said from the threshold. “Someone will come get you out.”
“Thank you,” Andrick replied without turning.
The door closed behind him with a sharp sound.
“How are you, Mark?” he said after walking a little farther.
The man sitting at the table watched him in silence for a few seconds. Then he formed a slight smile.
“So you finally came.”
“That’s right,” Andrick answered calmly. “I’ve been… busy.”
He moved to one corner of the room and stopped there, not sitting.
“But here we are.”
Mark tilted his head slightly, studying him.
“Now that my position is vacant,” he said, “I’ve heard the rumor that you’re going to be appointed the new district chief.”
“Looks that way,” Andrick replied. “After all this time.”
Mark’s smile widened a fraction.
“Who would’ve thought… he’d be proud,” he remarked. “The prodigal child finally rises. It’s almost touching, if you think about it. Someone who lost everything… making it all the way to the top.”
Andrick stepped up to the table and planted both hands on it, face to face with Mark.
“The title doesn’t matter to me,” he said. “I want change. People are tired.”
His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to.
“And in all these years I learned something,” he continued. “Words aren’t enough to eradicate corruption. Waiting for the system to clean itself is the most comfortable way to do nothing. I’m done waiting.”
Mark looked at him carefully.
“You tried to silence me,” Andrick added. “But that’s over. Everything is going to change.”
“I didn’t orchestrate any attempted homicide,” Mark replied coldly. “You know that.”
Andrick held his gaze.
“The evidence is clear,” he said. “And you’re only the first who’s going to pay for years of crimes.”
Without saying anything else, he knocked on the door twice.
The officer opened it and Andrick left without looking back.
As the door slowly closed, Mark watched the beam of hallway light shrink… until it disappeared completely.
The room fell silent again.
Somewhere else in the city, far from the noise, Aiden began to come around. He tried to move, but pain stabbed through him immediately and a groan slipped out. With effort, he managed to sit up on the edge of the bed.
He looked out the window. Cars passing. Lights. Routine.
And despite the chaos outside, and the chaos inside his head, life seemed to keep going as if nothing had happened.
He stood carefully and stepped into the hallway. He was heading for the stairs when he felt a current of air. He stopped. When he turned, he saw a half-open room: it looked like an improvised office, with a desk, some books in back, and papers scattered across the floor. The window was wide open, letting the wind in without permission.
Inside, Kael slept slumped over a chair, like he’d ended up there after hours of reading or thinking.
Aiden stepped in, trying not to make noise. He closed the window. Then he crouched and started picking up the papers one by one. He stacked them on the desk with a strange, almost automatic patience. That’s when he lifted his eyes and saw it.
The wall was covered in clippings, notes, arrows, names, and connections. A mind map turned obsession.
Aiden rubbed his temple, feeling fatigue press behind his eyes.
“This is more complicated than I thought…” he murmured.
He sighed and, without realizing it, thought:
Why am I still here? What keeps me stuck inside this riddle?
He tapped the wall softly, more to vent tension than out of anger, and left the room. As he crossed the threshold, Kael opened his eyes just enough to see him go, saying nothing.
Aiden went down the stairs with difficulty. Every step reminded him what they’d done to him. When he reached the bottom, a smell hit him suddenly: something he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Coffee.
He went to the kitchen and saw Nicole making a pot. She glanced at him from the side.
“Good morning, sleepyhead. You sleep like a rock.”
Aiden nodded, voice low.
“Yeah… lately it happens.”
Nicole grabbed a cup, filled it, and handed it to him. Then she set a pill down beside the plate.
“For the pain.”
Aiden took it, but before he could say anything, Nicole added, no drama, like she already understood everything:
“You know you don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”
Aiden lowered his eyes.
“Yes I do,” he murmured.
Nicole watched him for a moment and, even though she could tell there was something else behind that answer, she didn’t push. She just left the cup and the pill in his hand, like that was her way of taking care of him.
Aiden swallowed.
“Can I go to the porch?”
“Sure.”
The sun lit the porch with an almost insulting calm.
Aiden watched the man in the front yard watering plants. The stream came out weak, scattered. Then the man covered part of the nozzle with his finger. The flow narrowed. The water reached farther.
Aiden didn’t look away.
It wasn’t more strength.
It was decision.
He closed his eyes for a moment.
The image of the Exterminator returned with unsettling clarity. Not only his punches. Not only his technique. The way he advanced. The way he didn’t hesitate. The way he never backed down.
He wasn’t fighting to win.
He was fighting like there was nothing after.
Aiden pressed his fingers into the edge of the step.
“He had already accepted losing everything…” he thought.
That was what made him different.
He didn’t measure risks.
He didn’t hold anything back.
He didn’t think about consequences.
Every punch went all in.
Every movement assumed the end.
Aiden swallowed.
“I don’t fight like that…”
And it wasn’t just fear.
His life had never worked like that. There was always an after. Another chance. Another attempt. If something failed, he kept going.
The Exterminator didn’t have that.
Or worse… he didn’t want it.
He remembered the fight. The moment his body had reacted on its own. When he started seeing trajectories, rhythms, patterns. Copy. Adapt.
And still, it wasn’t enough.
Because copying movements didn’t copy conviction.
And copying techniques didn’t copy an entire life built for that instant.
Aiden looked at his hands.
That strange ability he didn’t even understand. That automatic reflex he’d trusted.
“I can’t beat him like this…” he admitted in silence.
As long as he fought while expecting a tomorrow, he’d never be able to defeat someone who had already abandoned it.
The wind stirred the leaves in the yard.
Aiden breathed in deep.
The question wasn’t about the Exterminator anymore.
It was about him.
About what held him back.
About that invisible thing keeping him halfway.
“So…” he thought, “how do I break the barrier that ties me down?”
He had no answer.
