Contents

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Illustrator: Diana Va-Schal
Translator: Daria Zubkovskaia

From the Translator

The translation of this book has been one of the most challenging, captivating, and enjoyable adventures of my life. Conveying the energy and spirit of each character is no easy task, but I did my best to preserve the unique essence of each one exactly as envisioned by the author.
The Afterglow, its occurrences, and especially its characters, have repeatedly saved me during the most challenging moments of my life — when I had no strength, when everything was falling apart, Robert, Steph, Chris, Norman, Sarah always came to my rescue. And each of them, every time, reminded me of something very important.
Stephanie reminded me of how important it is to notice the beauty around us and to be able to rebuild ourselves. Over and over again, step by step. After all, so much depends on our attitude and determination.
Robert reminded me of the importance of staying calm and unwavering in any situation, because decisions made in haste and panic never lead to anything good. Moreover, your resilience can save someone’s life.
Norman reminded me of the importance of a positive attitude: a bit of humor and a small drink from the flask can make even the worst day a little bit better. And Sara — of the importance of treating everyone with understanding and respect. After all, you can never truly know what someone has been through.
And the most important advice I receive every time I come across this book is from Chris: never despair. Even when the world is falling apart, even when you can’t see a way out, even when it feels like there is no strength left — never despair. Because as soon as you start to despair and give up, you’ll break forever.
I sincerely thank the magnificent author of this book for her boundless talent, for the vivid characters, and for the vibrant narrative style that makes you immerse yourself in every moment of the plot without hesitation. And most importantly, for creating a story that gave me a completely new and infinitely beloved world, to which I continue to return again and again.
My dear reader, I sincerely wish for you to fall as deeply in love with this story and to find something truly special in it — something that, if it doesn’t save you in a difficult moment of life, will certainly make you smile, remind you of what matters most, or inspire you.
Let The Gorgon be your guiding star in the fight against the most difficult and seemingly invincible obstacles. May Stephanie’s strength of spirit and Lewis’s unwavering determination instill in you an unshakable belief in your abilities. And may the magical chemistry between them bring warmth to your soul and remind you that somewhere in this world, your person is always waiting for you.
With infinite gratitude and boundless love for each of you.

Once and until the end.

Book 1

Dedicated to my guiding light and the brightest person. Mom. You will always live in my heart.

Part 1. Stephanie Shayer

1

An endless snow-covered field. A white sky. A hazy horizon line fading into a pale mist. All around, an infinite silver expanse without a single hint of color – no sound, no breath of wind, not even a sense of cold. My steps are silent, weightless; it takes me a moment to realize that I’m walking. From nowhere. To nowhere. The silence is so overwhelming that the flow of blood through my veins feels like a deafening roar, the beating of my heart like a mythical battering ram, threatening to shatter my chest. A vague sense of foreboding coils through my body, wrapping around and choking me, but I lift my eyes to the pearly, dusty-gray sky. Snow is falling in large flakes. Slowly. Silently. Spiraling down, settling on my hair, shoulders, arms.

My arms.

I lower my gaze to them. Instead of long gloves reaching to my elbows – bright crimson blood. Hot. Sticky. And only at this moment do I realize the snow-covered field is gone: a dark forest surrounds me, black trees tangled together like a cage. Above, the sharp sliver of a crescent moon. I’m standing knee-deep in a motionless river, but its waters are scarlet, concealing silent bodies, their right arms twisted behind their backs.

I try to get out, to climb free, but I only sink deeper into the mire pulling me down, further and further, and the dead begin to whisper to me. I can hear their voices and feel as though I know each one. I squeeze my eyes shut, sensing their cold, lifeless hands on my shoulders, dragging me with them. When I open my eyes again, I see a wasteland. Everything is burning. The earth burns. The sky burns. There is nothing to see but erupting darkness and the infernal blaze of hellfire. I am drenched in blood; it drips down my face, flows along my arms, and runs over the sword I grip with lifeless force. Everything around me is steeped in blood, pouring in rivers, blazing with scarlet flames.

The taste of ash on my lips. A hissing in my head. A black sun.

I fall to my knees, and then collapse into the snow.

The hot coffee burned my throat, and the warmth of the bitter drink spread through my body. I exhaled heavily, driving away the intrusive images of the night’s torment, and lifted my gaze to the sky, veiled with stormy gray-brown clouds. A chilly, pre-dawn gloom cloaked the world, and the gusty cold wind – so unusual for what I understood to be midsummer – offered little pleasure in being outside. In the Central Lands, summer is gentle and welcoming (though this year, the weather has been surprising with uncharacteristic fluctuations since spring); and in the Isthmus Region, where I was now, winds, it seemed, were a common thing.

I still couldn’t fully realize that we had actually crossed the customs borders of the lands and passed through twenty-three checkpoints. My emotions urged me to look around, soak in the landscapes, and try to catch glimpses of the local culture. When else would I have a chance to escape the confines of restricted movement? But my rational mind stubbornly refused to view these new places through the lens of idle curiosity.

Firstly, the job wasn’t done yet. Secondly, while there was no doubt about the validity of the documents presented to customs officials and no questions were raised at any checkpoint, there was no guarantee that on the return trip the political investigators – the Reapers – wouldn’t take an interest in the name that had endorsed our papers. This wasn’t just playing with fire – it was an attempt to walk on a thread over the abyss.

The brewed coffee bean exuded a spicy aroma, and I suddenly thought that over the past few months, during which sleepless nights were consumed by black coffee and endless work, my body seemed to have absorbed too much of this bitter, smoky liquid, flowing through my veins instead of blood.

I tossed the empty paper cup into the trash, wanting to get back to the warm car as soon as possible, and, lifting the sleeve of my leather jacket, I glanced at my watch. Not even six yet.

Suddenly, in the distance above the houses, a flock of birds rose into the air, their sharp cries echoing through the surroundings. The silence of the early morning in the sparsely populated suburb only amplified their plaintive and anxious clamor, which resonated in a chorus of echoes among the houses and sent a gust of wind scattering leaves across the road.

A pang tugged at my heart, and for some reason, a spasm tightened my throat: it was as if all the doubts of the past days had collapsed onto my shoulders like an unbearable weight.

Such a long journey made, such a grave risk looming overhead like the tip of a sword; a misstep feels all too easy, unbearably dangerous. More dangerous than ever before.

Shivering slightly, I made my way toward the small white trailer.

“Let’s go,” I said to Andrew; he nodded, adjusted the collar of his bright orange shirt, and started the engine, “and take off those damn sunglasses! Where do you see any signs of the sun?”

“In the same place, where the meaning and practicality of this whole trip lie,” the man retorted, glancing at the rearview mirror, while I clicked my tongue and gave Andrew a condescending look. “You know, I won’t stop repeating that this is a very risky undertaking. Fine, I won’t mention the documents for the customs officers that you dug up somewhere, thank the Mother Goddess, it all went smoothly. I won’t mention the seals on the papers and the signatures of, well, you know who… I won’t even say that after our last publications, we should really avoid showing our faces anywhere! We’ve always turned a blind eye to such trifles as keeping our lives safe, right?” he snorted, not hiding his sarcasm, “but do you really think we’re going to find any meaningful or useful information here? In this ordinary, sparsely populated town in the Isthmus Region? The entire State is under a curfew, there’s a state of emergency in the East; and I’m not even talking about the completely closed roads, nor do I mention the widespread checks and extra social restrictions. And I won’t even bring up the tightening of control and surveillance, Steph! I won’t even utter a word about the completely closed Northern lands!” we were jolted slightly as the trailer hit the main road, “The place where we could actually get something useful from, they won’t let us through, not even if the very Heavens themselves decide to act as our protectors. And this is just one of the many border towns. Moreover, it’s in the damn northern part of the Isthmus Region! Right next to the borders!”

“You’re the driver, right? So just drive the car,” I responded more harshly than I intended, but Andrew didn’t seem to notice the sharpness in my voice. I tried to exhale more calmly, as if that could silence the doubts and fears, and continued in a conciliatory tone. “Listen, I don’t want us to go all this way for nothing either. But I’m sure we’ll gather something useful here. It may be a small town, but it’s one of the few open ones on the main connecting highways. Local newspapers are full of news about the chaos in hospitals and quarantined neighborhoods, and that’s a good sign – the government’s censorship hasn’t tightened the noose yet. Besides, as you rightly pointed out, it’s one of many border towns to the North. I don’t think the eyes and ears of the political police here are sharp enough to notice any leaks of information.”

“The main thing is that the great mother-censorship lets it through,” Andrew said after a moment. “But the material you want to gather will be difficult to publish, even with our boss’s connections. With all the connections, Steph. You’ll need one hell of a trump card up your sleeve. So far, almost all the information on this topic has been successfully cleaned up.”

“Let’s emphasize the word ‘almost’, ” I smiled slyly. “Is Sam asleep?” Andrew nodded, and after giving him a pat on the shoulder, I headed inside the trailer.

The car swayed slightly.

Pulling off my jacket, I sank heavily onto the small couch. On the fold-out table in front of me were a battered notebook, headphones, Sam’s badge-holder, with “Samwise Dort” written in round, handwritten letters, and a large folder filled with papers, notes, crude sketches, and newspaper clippings – “The Three’s speech postponed again – monarchs preparing to make several important announcements?”, “Power outages in the capital!”, “Eastbound highways closed”, “Main underground tunnel through the ‘Halls’ to the West is closed until autumn” – none of which I wanted to go through.

My head felt heavy, my eyes were closing. The sleepless nights of anxiety during the border crossings were catching up with me. But I knew, if I lay down on the bed now, I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I was completely unaccustomed to sleeping in a moving car.

I shifted my gaze to the monotonous landscape sliding past the window: white two-story houses with dark roofs flashed in a repetitive rhythm, and rare arrow-shaped trees pierced the gloomy sky. We passed an expressive bridge with wrought-iron railings; the water in the river appeared dirty, graphite-brown, and its turbulent streams seemed out of place next to the neat, private homes.

In the background of my thoughts, the fleeting realization hit me that the river was rushing toward the Bloody Bay, and I almost regretted that we wouldn’t see its fjords. I’d heard they were insanely beautiful.

But the very sight of the stormy waters amidst the trembling calm of the dormant town seemed, for a moment, eerie and terrifying. However, lately, my tendency toward suspicion, emotionality – sometimes crossing all boundaries – feelings of dread and awe, arising out of nothing, had become particularly sharp: they made me spin, twitch, and never gave me peace for a moment — something was approaching, and one didn’t need to be a seer to understand that. The only question was, in which area of our lives would it first strike.

I attributed my own moral exhaustion to general fatigue and the tense atmosphere. Although, without a doubt (and I couldn’t lie to myself), the reason ran much deeper – it was too obvious and too painful. There was no escaping or hiding from the past. You couldn’t drown it out with work, drown it out with risky decisions, or dull it; it always came back in sudden memories during moments of silence, nightmarish dreams, creeping tears, and the lump in my throat… Starting over was hard. Sometimes it seemed like it was only possible if I set fire to the previous chapters of my life, but to do that, I’d have to be either incredibly brave or desperately foolish – and so I sought healing elsewhere. Having completely lost myself, with an absolute emptiness within my ribs, I gave myself over to work. Completely. Without fear or doubt. Maybe that’s why, looking at the houses passing by the window, at the travel papers arranged before me, I didn’t question how I had the courage to do all of this.

I had gotten myself into an adventure, the details of which were frightening to even think about.

Sam was snoring loudly in his sleep, curled up on the small, worn-out couch; he had spent the entire night editing a video and then fixing the antenna – for some reason, it had been acting up with terrible interruptions lately – so it was no surprise that he fell asleep as soon as he sat down. I smiled, recalling how many years of friendship we shared with Dort – playing in the same courtyard as kids, going to school together, and then to college. I never thought life would turn out this way – I never imagined everything would spin, change, twist, and break apart like this – and that we would end up working side by side.

Over four years of working in publishing behind us. So fast, yet unbearably long; what we’ve achieved now is written in blood, tears, and the cold of political investigation cells… There was no easy start, and we didn’t fall into rhythm right away – for a long time, our trio wasn’t recognized, so we weren’t involved in any of the shortcuts, gossip, or work for the regime. Courage is tasted in small doses. You don’t read people right away. You find allies only through mistakes. The constant drive to be at the center of events, to dig into topics that shouldn’t be dug into: this led us to the current editor-in-chief of Crimson Skies, a man who was partly reckless, impulsive, but very principled and brave, who managed to find a loophole in censorship and powerful patrons even in our State.

The closer to the center of the city, the more people there are, the taller the buildings, and the darker the sky.

It was an incredible risk to head to the Isthmus Region, but a trusted source assured us that there would be information on our topic of interest, and certain strings had been pulled to set up the meeting.

However, we were nearly a day late for the agreed meeting time: no matter how well-made the entry documents were or whose name was on the signature, movement between territorial units of the State had been, to put it mildly, highly restricted for many decades, and in the past month, customs officials had become downright feral. The tightening of already strict restrictions was, of course, due to the epidemic in the Northern lands, which could no longer be concealed by rumors, speculation, or the machinations of “oppositionists and amateurs.” An unknown disease was rapidly and mercilessly sweeping through the cities, and the impending nightmare, the “wrath of the Heavens,” was only whispered by the lazy.

Yes, Andrew didn’t have to mention the closed North. I was sure that in a couple of weeks, it would fall under the same strict ban as the civil war in the southwestern territories and the organization Ancerb, which had vanished about a year and a half ago. So, no matter how risky our trip was, we couldn’t afford to miss even the smallest chance to understand what was happening.

I sighed heavily, glancing furtively at the fresh newspaper next to Sam. The headlines were full of news about yet another official behind bars; about how the civil war (and any military actions) in the distant southwest had ended last year, and any contradiction to that was lies, sabotage, and attempts to undermine the authority of the ruling monarchs. However, such formulations were no longer surprising; government scribes churned out the same articles on repeat, desperately trying to convince the loyal subjects of the State of the Three of its legitimacy, the control over the situation in the closed North, where rumors spoke of an almost apocalyptic event, and in the southwest, where the peninsula and the stronghold of resistance, The Cold Calm, had been waging a civil war for thirteen years for their right to secede.

The official on the front page of the newspaper – Ivanko Horst – was one of the few who had started speaking out openly for the right of the Cold Calm to secede; he had also sought to shed light on events and the situation in the North. Now, after being removed from his position and stripped of his title as Marquess of the Northern Lands, he was behind bars on charges of treason, allegedly committed a decade ago.

The trailer suddenly braked sharply, and I lurched forward, barely managing to keep my balance and hold onto the folder of documents. Sam swayed, instinctively grabbing the couch as he woke up, eyes wide. The vehicle started moving again.

“What’s happening? Where are we, Steph?” Sam rasped, peering out the window, “oh, right… I fell asleep. I hope we’ll be done quickly today.”

“If there’s no material, we’ll get some sleep,” I replied, then nodded toward his bright green hoodie with the strange orange monster on it. “We’ll be there soon, change your top.”

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes, while I, turning back to the window, leaned against the back of the seat.

We passed a few boulevards and turned onto the bypass road where the hospital we needed was located.

The town of °22-1-20-21-14, located in the northern part of the Isthmus Region. Small, provincial. One would think, what could possibly happen in such a quiet place? But I had been assured that this was exactly where I needed to go. I just had to trust. What did I have to lose? Time? I didn’t think the political police of the Three and the main enforcers of the totalitarian regime – the Reapers – were currently pursuing minor defectors and journalists with particular diligence; there were enough problems without publications that fancied freedom of speech, buried under the weight of years, had returned.

One thing I knew for sure: I simply couldn’t miss the meeting with the chief physician of the local hospital, a doctor of medical sciences who had left the North just over a year ago.

When the hospital appeared outside the window, I noted with surprise that it was quite a large building, towering over the surrounding structures; the new addition to the medical facility stood out, making its size even more disproportionate for such a small town. Around it was an incredible number of cars; Sam stared out the window in confusion, looking at the crowded parking lot. Andrew didn’t find a spot to park right away.

The trailer’s engine rumbled hoarsely before falling silent.

“We’ve arrived!” Andrew turned to us. “You can get out.”

Birds hovered close to the ground, and the stifling heat outside seemed saturated with sweet, smoky smells, as if the wind had vanished altogether. The air carried the scent of an approaching storm.

Beyond the hospital building, where tall fences loomed, soldiers and a police convoy stood guard. A black helicopter flew overhead with a loud roar; the emblem of the Three had been covered by a design of coiling serpents, but I didn’t get a chance to fully make out the symbol.

“Are you coming with us?” I asked Andrew, standing by the trailer door as I watched the helicopter pass by. “Or will you be waiting?”

“Go ahead, I’ll catch up in a bit,” Andrew said. “I want to stretch my legs and get a look around. We haven’t been this far before…”

I nodded in agreement, concealing the slight nervousness I felt. Sam, hurriedly grabbing the equipment bag and throwing on a more or less decent windbreaker over his favorite hoodie, darted out of the stifling trailer and slammed the door behind him. I shot a quick glance at Dort, then, taking a deep breath, looked around.

We needed material. And we would get it. Or create it.

I nudged Sam in the side and hurried toward the hospital doors, still surveying the scene behind the building. Everything looked unsettling and serious, which, in some way, was reassuring – it increased the chances of finding something valuable, a big story that could truly tarnish the godlike image of the Three. Perhaps confirmation of the epidemic in the North could not only open people’s eyes but spur them to action.

And, thank the heavens, there were no Reaper vehicles in sight.

Sam caught up with me on the stairs, muttering something under his breath as he opened the door for me and motioned me through.

The hospital smelled of various medications, and an almost tangible sense of sadness and despair hung in the air. I flinched, pausing for a moment and trying to steady the tremor in my body. My legs felt like stone, and my palms grew clammy; there are things that leave a mark on our lives forever – things you can learn to live with, but never truly erase. I forced myself to push away those intrusive thoughts and remind myself why we were here and what we hoped to accomplish. I stepped forward, casting a quick glance around the room: yes, it was just another hospital, like hundreds of others. Flustered medical staff in sterile uniforms hurried past, each with their own bag of tools, each lost in thoughts about patients, difficult cases, hopes, and fears. Patients either lay in beds or stood by the windows, gazing enviously at the people outside those cursed walls. Someone was always crying; someone was always celebrating and leaving the hospital, determined never to come back. In the corners were large white pots with tall plants, their green leaves meant to be calming. And all this silence, broken only by soft voices, moans, cries, and the hum of machines, was slowly starting to drive me mad…

Horizontal ultraviolet lamps, casting a bluish light, hung from the ceilings. Some were burned out, plunging sections of the long corridors into an unsettling, eerie half-darkness.

Sam continued to yawn, lazily holding his dark bag under his arm, completely indifferent to his surroundings; he was so tired that he either didn’t notice my fleeting pause or chose not to comment on it. But I was sure that if I offered him to sleep right there, on the cold hospital floor, Dort would agree without hesitation.

“All right,” I waved my hand at Sam, “Go take some footage. I need to hurry to the meeting – we’re already way behind schedule; we’ll have to push hard to make up for the day’s delay. I’m afraid it might come back to haunt us; it was too difficult to arrange this conversation…”

“Did you really find an informant here?” Sam squinted, and I theatrically rolled my eyes and spun around to move forward. “What’s there to film?” Came his voice from behind.

“As if you don’t know,” I smirked in response.

Dort either exhaled loudly or let out a groan of pure disappointment.

Neither Sam nor Andrew knew for certain who our unnamed assistant and influential patron was – certainly not the person whose name had signed off the passes for the customs officers – who had helped arrange the meeting with the doctor. Both of them understood perfectly that sometimes it was better not to ask unnecessary questions. The less you know, the less the Reapers could find out if it came to that.

“We’re going because it aligns with our worldview and our position,” Andrew said before we left, “The rest doesn’t matter. You know what you’re doing, and it’s not our place to doubt you.”

I asked the administrator where the chief physician’s office was – most of the corridors and passages were blocked, emergency crews were leading people out of the hospital, and security forces had cordoned off two wings – and when she heard my last name, the young woman at the counter said they were expecting me. She pointed me in the right direction and suggested I hurry, glancing nervously at the uniformed officers. I didn’t hesitate; I wanted to leave this place as quickly as possible and made my way to the chief physician’s office. Fortunately, his office had been temporarily moved to the first floor of this wing – was it some kind of divine blessing?

The medical staff was in a nervous, restless state. The faces of many showed the aimlessness of running back and forth down the corridor, as if trying to shake off their anxiety, to distract themselves, but instead they only pushed themselves deeper into the traps set by the tension gripping the hospital. The strain hung in the air like a dense shroud, pressing down on my chest. For a brief moment, a chill ran down my spine, and fear tensed my nerves, making them vulnerable to a cruel game. I felt my fingers grow cold, noticed myself glancing around and listening more intently – was that gunfire echoing somewhere in the distance? Were the screams real, or was it the acoustics of the space and the pounding of my heart playing tricks on my perception? But the overall confusion only urged me to keep moving forward.

The steadfast conviction that the rumors were not just tales and that the infection from the North had truly reached here, to °22-1-20-21-14, strengthened in my mind.

The gathering of security forces behind the hospital, the military vehicles in the city, the blocked roads and neighborhoods – there could be no doubt left. The fact that we had managed to get in was truly a miracle. It felt as if fate itself had intervened.

The corridor seemed endless. A series of closed doors, staircases, and passageways… When the right office finally came into view, I exhaled quietly, releasing the tension. I knocked. Without waiting for an answer, I opened the door and took a cautious step inside.

A man, around forty years old, was putting papers into a small safe beside his desk.

“May I?” I whispered as I gently closed the door behind me. The doctor turned around, adjusting his square glasses in their neat frame and quickly shutting the safe’s door. “Dr. Givori, if I’m not mistaken?”

“Good morning,” He nodded, tossing the key onto the desk and settling into a tall leather chair. “How can I help you?”

“I’m Stephanie Shayer. An independent journalist, correspondent, and simply an interested party.” I gracefully took one of my most recent business cards from my pocket and stepped forward to hand it to him. “I wanted to ask you a few questions.”

“I was given a different description of you…” He muttered to himself, studying the card closely and thinking intently about something in parallel. “But it doesn’t matter.” He carelessly flicked the card aside and nodded to the chair across from him. As I examined the office, my attention was caught by Givori’s hand: his palm was bandaged, the cloth already soaked with blood.

“Thank you,” I said, settling into the chair under the man’s intense gaze. I looked straight into his eyes.

The clock on the wall ticked loudly. Snippets of ordinary conversation drifted in from the street through the open window.

“Medical ethics prevent me from disclosing my patients’ secrets,” Givori said curtly. “I trust you’re aware of that.”

“Oh, certainly,” I replied, letting the corner of my lips twitch up. “Don’t worry, I’m not interested in specific individuals. I came to you for a different reason.”

“I remember,” The man let out a short, humorless laugh. “Unfortunately, I was informed this morning that all materials regarding the outbreak of the unknown disease must not be disclosed.” He cast a quick glance toward the corner of the office, where I noticed a small camera with a green light blinking, and then at the safe. That was enough to understand what was being kept locked away. “As you can imagine, this directive came from the local Inquisition department of the Reapers, and it was by no means a request. Disclosing any information would have serious consequences,” Givori paused for a moment. “I’m afraid to disappoint you, but aside from the existing, already-circulated theories and assumptions, you won’t learn anything new.” His voice took on an air of feigned disappointment, but in the expressive depths of his eyes, there was a profound weight to his words.

“So, the incidents did happen, and the patients’ madness isn’t just stories and ghost tales but a real outbreak of a disease brought from the North?”

Givori nodded almost imperceptibly.

“You’re not the first to try and find out what’s really going on.”

“Well, in that case, I’ll just have to be the first to find answers to all the questions,” I said with undisguised determination.

A chill ran down my back, while my neck and face burned with heat. All or nothing. Because taking this kind of reckless risk had two outcomes: on one hand, it could land me by evening in a cell facing a Reaper interrogator. On the other, the fact that the intelligence service was actively working to prevent any information leaks only confirmed its existence here.

We didn’t endure four grueling days on the road, braving barriers, restrictions, and traffic jams, for nothing.

Givori remained stubbornly silent, and I clicked my tongue:

“Do you really think I’d reveal the name of my informant?” He raised an eyebrow, casting a meaningful glance toward the camera in the corner. “Dr. Givori, the country is in panic, and it won’t be long before that panic escalates into uncontrollable chaos. Do we really want another scenario like the southwestern territories?” I said it more to the small, flashing camera in the corner than to the doctor. “Or another situation with aggressive opposition groups? People are terrified. Rumors of an epidemic are spreading everywhere. Loyal citizens need at least some concrete answers, not scraps of gossip that only grow into more horror stories and fabrications. If you know something, it’s a chance to help others. Besides,” I added, “You won’t deny that your patients are in a state teetering on the edge of death and are attacking others, trying…” I paused briefly, taking a deep breath and exhaling almost silently, “…to bite them.”

His response didn’t come immediately. The ticking of the clock seemed louder, and I flinched again, now certain I could hear gunshots in the distance.

“I won’t,” the man nodded. “And I can tell you one thing: this is clearly not a psychiatric disorder, as many believe,” he continued, his voice feigning boredom. Quickly, I pulled a battered leather notebook and pen from the inner pocket of my jacket, ready to jot down every word as he spoke. “First of all, mental illnesses cannot be transmitted from person to person. Second, it’s impossible for so many people to develop the same mental disorder practically at the same time. And third,” he continued, “as you rightly pointed out, the carriers are in a state that teeters on the edge of death. And I’ll tell you,” Givori’s face twisted with an expression of terror and panic as he pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket to wipe the sweat beading on his forehead, “the term ‘on the edge’ is an extreme understatement. Can the equipment really lie to us?”

His face contorted further, reflecting his horror. His voice became hoarse, breaking as he spoke. His fear seeped into me; I could feel it building inside, scratching and twisting.

“A sudden outbreak. One day, everything’s calm, and the next, we have an entire ward full. By the third, police and military are cordoning off entire neighborhoods and districts. Rumor has it special units have arrived in the city. They’re saying… very special units.” He spread his hands, a helpless gesture. “And we, we can’t even take proper samples from the infected… They’re extremely aggressive,” Givori muttered, rubbing his bandaged hand. “And bloodthirsty. A significant portion of the medical staff has contracted the infection. Five died on the spot from patient attacks. We managed to isolate the infected wing, and now the best specialists and military forces are working there…”

The silence lingered, and the background noise grew more distinct, forcing me to turn toward the door.

“Well… That sounds like a headline story,” I replied with effort, looking at Givori intently and seriously. “If you could call me when anything unfolds, I would be immensely grateful. Of course, any information shared would be within the bounds of your medical oaths,” I added, raising my hands with open palms.

“I’d really tell you more, but I’m concerned for my safety and that of my family,” the man admitted suddenly, his voice surprisingly candid. “Besides, this borders so much on pure madness that your headline might be dismissed as sensationalist.”

At that very moment, the door to the office burst open, and in the doorway stood a nurse whose coat was noticeably soaked… in blood. She was breathing heavily, her wide, panicked eyes staring past us.

“Dr. Givori!” She cried. “The patients from the third wing are trying to break down the doors! It’s almost impossible to hold them back!”

“What?!” The man exclaimed, leaping to his feet. He shot me a glance and gestured firmly toward the door without saying a word, while my gaze momentarily caught on the keys lying on his desk. “Leave my office!” Givori barked, and I sprang from my chair, nearly knocking it over as I slipped past the nurse. “Where…? Never mind! Let the office stay open! What are the security forces reporting? Will the Reapers step in to manage the situation? Has there been any directive from the mayor’s office?…”

The voices dissolved into the noise. My heart pounded in my throat, making it hard to breathe; I was deeply worried about Sam. The corridor filled with a cacophony of screams, groans, and an ominous humming sound, which made my head spin slightly from anxiety. I hurried toward the exit, and the closer I got, the clearer the shouting, pounding, and incomprehensible growling – accompanied by harsh swearing – became. The flickering lights continued to pulse erratically, and fear slithered up my neck, tightening like a noose.

But when I stepped out of the corridor, the scene before me made me stagger. Police officers, holding shields in front of them, were forcing patients back through doors while the latter struggled to break free. The patients clawed at the officers, emitting inhuman howls.

And blood was everywhere. The stench was acrid, suffocating, sickening. It reeked of decay, fetid dampness, and the sickly-sweet rot of death.

At that moment, I couldn’t process much, but the image seared itself into my memory with striking clarity: disfigured faces and bodies, bite wounds unlike anything the rumors described – not just bites, but chunks of flesh and muscle torn away, a grotesque spectacle of gore.

Everything around me felt distorted and sinister, as if I had stumbled into a nightmarish dream.

I should scream, run away as fast as I could, or at least turn away… But all I did was stand there, frozen in a state of shock, staring, feeling the nausea rise in my throat. The ground beneath me seemed to tilt, frantic screams ringing in my ears. And everything inside me clenched. Acid filled my mouth…

“Please evacuate the building!” A police officer came up behind me, almost knocking me over. He shook me by the shoulders. “Leave the building! Now! It’s not safe here!”

I don’t remember if I mumbled something in response or ran straight for the doors. All I know is that the suffocating heat outside made it impossible to take a full breath, as if all the oxygen had been drained from my lungs. I barely managed to hold back the urge to vomit and probably would have collapsed right there, rolling down the stairs, if Dort hadn’t caught me.

“Sam!” I grabbed him by the collar of his hoodie, unable to say anything else. Suddenly, a violent chill overtook me. I was shaking. A heavy weight sat in my stomach. And… fear. Paralyzing. Sticky and cold. With the smell of blood and decay. It clouded my vision, shrouding the world in a dark haze.

“Let’s go,” he nodded, and steadying me by the arm, helped me make it back to the trailer.

Not once did I look back at the hospital. I couldn’t hear anything over the noise ringing in my ears. The police reinforcements seemed to have helped calm the chaos inside the hospital, at least a little, but the turmoil that had ignited within me erased every thought about the things I’d cared about for months and years.

Shock.

It was stuffy outside. Unbearably stuffy, and there was not enough air. The heat rose from the asphalt, and it seemed like everything around me was shimmering in this yet-to-erupt hell.

I had no idea what the future held. I didn’t even realize that the day we arrived at °22-1-20-21-14 would forever change my life.

2

Andrew and Sam were settled on folding chairs by the trailer, while I, wrapped in a blanket, sat on the step at the entrance to our motorhome. My gaze was fixed on the horizon, where enormous chimneys spewed dense, grayish-brown smoke in a continuous stream. The trembling still hadn’t stopped; my ribs felt tight, haunted by gruesome images and the lingering echoes of screams and noise in my head.

Yes, I wanted a sensation. I had dreamed of the rumors being true. We all did, knowing how pivotal information like this could be in shaking the power of the Three.

But when I saw the truth with my own eyes, I was terrified. No, not terrified – I was horrified. The thought of being pursued by the Reapers or thrown into the damp confines of their dungeons seemed almost childlike by comparison.

The men were intently reviewing the footage Sam had captured, occasionally exclaiming or exchanging comments. As for me… I couldn’t move. I hadn’t expected it to be like this. What I saw in the hospital was genuinely horrifying, forcing me to see everything happening in the State over the past few months in a stark new light. Tightened customs controls on the roads, disrupted broadcasts, power outages, the constant shuffling of political positions, and the general atmosphere of tension – all now painted a far more sinister picture. The voices of opposition had grown louder, but the government’s political police had seemingly become less aggressive in suppressing them. Now, in hindsight, it all made sense. My imagination wove living nightmares from the pieces.

Still, those dreadful phantoms felt distant and unreachable, while the madness in the hospital seemed more like the feverish delirium of a bad dream. If it weren’t for the sheer number of people in uniform, the flashing emergency lights, and the occasional blaring of sirens, I might have convinced myself that, after a sleepless night, I had simply drifted into an unconscious state and imagined it all.

I cast a cautious glance toward the hospital. A tall, fair-haired officer was shouting through a megaphone, urging everyone to maintain their distance. Shots rang out sporadically, and I flinched, dreading what might be happening inside the building. Although Andrew and Sam were eager to return (or sneak) inside, I had no desire to go back until the chaos subsided and the situation became clearer.

Besides, for the first time, I didn’t feel like risking another confrontation with law enforcement. First, I was too shaken and frightened for calm negotiations. Second, our reputation – already tarnished by breaking into private offices, stirring up controversy in heated debates, and exposing the dirty dealings of influential figures – was teetering on the edge. We had only just managed to smooth over the fallout from a report made over a year ago about the collapse of a dam on the Voluntas River, which had been sabotaged by the Terracotta organization. One misstep now, one careless move or word, could spell a death sentence.

It wouldn’t take much for government forces to dig deeper into our records or listen more closely to our questions…

Just half an hour earlier, courage and recklessness had clouded my judgment. Now, fear and the brush with death had sobered me.

I glanced at Sam and Andrew. The latter smoked a cigarette, gripping it between his thumb and forefinger, practically sucking the smoke out of it. Dort, meanwhile, was ruffling his hair and staring intently at the video on his laptop screen, practically unblinking.

We had never hesitated to push past plastic shields to get to the heart of the action, and I had often dragged the guys into questionable adventures. But now, I was absolutely unwilling to start yet another clash with the authorities, because this time, given certain factors, the outcome wouldn’t favor us. I couldn’t risk Sam’s and Andrew’s lives.

Because, apart from the factors I knew and was involved in, there were others. For instance, why had my file disappeared from the Reapers’ database? The memory took me back to the cold night of our journey here, to °22-1-20-21-14. Midnight. A checkpoint. A stack of verified documents and a half-asleep customs officer. A Reaper standing nearby was reviewing our papers. I was ready to recite my rehearsed lines – my record was checkered enough to attract the political police’s attention, but my time with “Crimson Skies” had taught me how to deflect and play roles convincingly. But then, unexpectedly, my file was nowhere to be found in the database. Should I have been relieved? Or terrified? Any attempt to analyze the incident was chased away by the morning’s horrifying images.

To hell with it. First, let’s deal with the hospital, gather the materials, and then we’ll act according to the situation… But at this moment, risking my safety by trying to get back into the medical facility was utterly reckless. So much so that even I wasn’t daring enough to do it.

A queasy ache spread through my stomach. Coffee, my lone companion for days now, remained the only tenant in my stomach. On the edge of consciousness, I knew I needed to force myself to eat something… But the clash between thoughts of food and the memory of mangled bodies made me nauseous.

Suddenly, a phone rang. Sam and Andrew both turned their heads simultaneously, while I flinched, exhaling loudly as Andrew darted into the trailer to rummage through the clutter for the phone. The annoying automated ringtone continued to chirp cheerily as he searched. Sam and I exchanged glances, and he gave me a tight smile, slightly lifting the video camera.

In his eyes, there was fear, and his face was unnaturally pale. But Sam didn’t betray himself – still the same ‘immortal operator,’ never letting go of the camera. I knew he would capture everything on video, even as the threat loomed over us like an avalanche.

When the endlessly ringing phone was finally found, I flinched again, this time at Andrew’s sudden, loud voice. He wasted no time boasting about the promising footage to his wife. Momentarily forgetting himself, he excitedly described what Sam had filmed and the sheer number of police and military personnel surrounding the hospital. I motioned for him to watch his words – our call could easily be monitored – and shivered slightly as I muttered a quiet curse. Andrew’s skepticism had vanished, and he didn’t seem remotely disturbed by what he had seen.

Relief and anxiety were battling within me, and it was still unclear which one would prevail.

Andrew then began talking about his daughter, which meant the call would drag on. For all his gruffness and reticence, dear Andy was a devoted father and exemplary family man who never missed a chance to ask me if I’d found someone special. Honestly, I always admired his ability to balance family, work, and hobbies, especially considering how different and disconnected those aspects of his life were.

I pulled off the warm blanket and tossed it somewhere deeper into the trailer.

“Andrew,” I called out to the man, and he turned around. “I’m going to the store.”

He gave a short nod, and I grabbed a small bag hanging on a hook near the trailer entrance, heading off with determination. Sam gave me a concerned glance, but without saying a word, he began disentangling himself from his cocoon of equipment. A few minutes later, Dort caught up with me and trailed alongside.

I had to admit: despite everything – my state, the nightmare, and the horror – I understood perfectly well that the material we had would cause a sensation. If Givori provided additional, extended information, it would trigger a massive wave, erasing any lingering doubts that the rule of the Three had run its course. That the monarchs had deliberately concealed an epidemic in the North. That their words could no longer be trusted. That people had become expendable tools in their hands…

I kept walking forward, lost in thought, paying no attention to the unfamiliar city around me. Instead of greedily taking in the sights, I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I completely forgot we were no longer in the Central Lands but had arrived in the Isthmus Region. Still, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the unusual layout of the winding streets, the distinctive, more refined and angular architecture, and the abundance of carmine and purplish-black stones in the buildings.

The echo carried the wailing siren from different parts of the city. Road workers in uniforms were patching a pothole in the asphalt; their work truck hummed, and its orange beacon light flickered intermittently. My feet ached terribly from my heels, my head throbbed, and the clamor and commotion didn’t let up for a moment. The loud voices blended into a singular cacophony, ringing in my ears. It was then that I realized just how out of sorts I was. I had lost track of time and barely noticed or comprehended what was happening around me.

Abruptly, I stopped and looked around. I had no idea how long it had been since we left the trailer – twenty minutes, maybe thirty? A loud chime from a tall red-brick building’s clock tower marked the hour. Ten o’clock. In front of us lay a bustling intersection. On a small square in front of what appeared to be an administrative building stood a proud pedestal displaying three identical, faceless figures. The only thing that distinguished these shadows were their characteristic attributes: the crown of two rings on the head of the Ruler, the sword in the hands of the Commander-in-Chief, and the Book held above the head of the Heavenly Ambassador.

“Unity is the key to immortality” – the central paradigm of the rule of the Three.

And anyone who dared to criticize this paradigm, who questioned the Three or their divine right to power, would vanish – becoming just another sudden victim. If you stood against the monarchs, you’d disappear, erased by the Reapers.

“Are you okay?” Sam spoke for the first time during this entire walk. I felt his attentive gaze on me, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the sculptural representation of the immutable monarchs. Which of our Three are they? The Eleventh? “You don’t look great, to be honest.”

“Thanks for your honesty,” I replied with a smirk, turning toward a modest but long building with walls made of darkened glass.

A cyclist whizzed past, nearly knocking Sam and me over. Dort, swearing loudly, flipped the guy the bird, to which I just sighed heavily and shook my head.

“They’ve lost their damn minds!” Sam growled, adjusting his hoodie. “Let’s go!”

The building, consisting of a basement and a first floor, was larger inside than it appeared from the outside. Scattered throughout were various shops, from pharmacies to souvenir stores. The basement housed a hypermarket and a luxurious bookstore (at least, the sign reading “Best in the City” set certain expectations). Air conditioners hummed at every turn, and I greedily inhaled the cool air. The shopkeepers, not quite fully awake, yawned lazily behind the counters, enjoying the sparse number of customers and visitors.

What had happened in the hospital was fading away, beginning to seem like a fabrication or a feverish delirium, and although I still clearly remembered every second, every sound, everything was gradually sinking into a smoky haze of memory, becoming less and less real. The mundane rhythm of life here, outside the hospital walls, dulled the anxiety, allowing certain details to slip away, but…

But for a moment, it was as if I was thrown into a dead loop of old and new memories. My heart painfully slammed against my ribs, fluttering wildly, and it took a considerable effort to push back the creeping panic and suppress the pain. I shuddered slightly, shaking my hair. Unconsciously, I squeezed my left wrist. Sam glanced at me, concerned, but without saying anything, he headed toward the staircase leading to the basement. I followed him.

“Come on, get a grip, Steph,” Dort said quietly over his shoulder. “I agree, it wasn’t a pleasant sight… But still, it’s for the better, right? We found some great material. We can turn it into gold. Isn’t this what we wanted?”

“Yeah, I guess so…” I muttered hesitantly, frowning. My gut was screaming at me, but I couldn’t figure out what exactly it was trying to warn me about. Glancing at the grocery store, I felt a lump rising in my throat. “You go ahead and grab some snacks. I think I’ll check out the bookstore instead.”

“What do you want?”

“Just some sparkling water. Maybe some cookies. I’m not really hungry.”

Sam nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets, and, turning around, disappeared behind the counters. A plump cashier in her forties gave me a disapproving look; I raised an eyebrow and gave a slight tilt of my head, and the woman, catching the unspoken “directional cue,” turned to the cigarette rack.

On the other side of the hypermarket, behind the panoramic windows, neat rows of bookshelves came into view.

My thoughts kept jumping from one thing to another: sleepless nights ending in strong coffee at gas stations, midnight packing sessions, this long journey, the bumpy ride in the trailer, the broken equipment. Mazes of houses, the yellow sliver of the moon in the sky. Clouds, the chilly morning, the hospital. Givori’s bandaged hand, the patients, the police.

Without realizing it, I found myself among the bookshelves. I quickly glanced around, then wandered between the racks, glancing at the new spines.

I felt nauseous. I must have been too on edge, and even now, I couldn’t stop overthinking. Deep down, fear had buried itself in my chest, straining my nerves. It had been a long time since I’d felt this out-of-control panic.

“Are you feeling unwell?” The woman at the checkout asked anxiously.

“No, I’m fine,” I replied with a short nod. For some reason, everyone seemed overly concerned about my health today. Did I really look that awful? “Thanks.”

I smiled tautly and quickly disappeared into the labyrinth of shelves, escaping her watchful gaze. I spent the next ten minutes wandering aimlessly and browsing through books. Pulling one volume after another from the shelves, I read the blurbs, flipped through the pages, and skimmed the first lines that caught my eye… Yet I was certain I didn’t retain any of it; I was simply trying to drown out the endless cycle of overlapping thoughts.

In my mind, I was already drafting the article, visualizing the layout of the online publication’s page, and working out which phrases should be highlighted in bold. Despite this detached state, I still managed to select about seven books for purchase – simple paperbacks that were easy to carry due to their compact size and light weight. Among them were a couple I had already read.

It was hard to predict how long we would be staying in °22-1-20-21-14. Much depended on how talkative Givori would be, the general state of the city, and the activities of the Reapers. With that in mind, I figured it was wise to prepare something to occupy myself with beyond work.

I chuckled to myself, feeling a dull ache of melancholy spreading through my body. If I had the chance, I’d definitely explore the city – walk around, try the local cuisine, visit some landmarks… After all, it was rare for loyal citizens of the State to leave their assigned territories, where everyone was essentially “tied” from birth.

I cast a fleeting glance toward the local guidebooks. A shelf of those could just as well be labeled “cruel irony” everywhere.

Without thinking, I picked up a couple of pens and pencils.

Sam was probably right. We had come here for a sensational story, striking visuals, and information – and we got plenty of them. The trip wasn’t in vain, and that alone was worth so much. If I were religious, I might have offered heartfelt thanks to the Heavens.

I hadn’t heard Sam approach, so when his voice suddenly sounded by my ear – “Steph, I’m here” – I nearly dropped the books.

“You scared me,” I exhaled tightly, shaking my head. “Just give me a minute, and we’ll go.”

“You can’t be left alone in a bookstore,” the guy winked.

And why would he have a reason to be down? Sam was holding a bag of food; we had the material we came for, plenty of work ahead, and no chance of getting back into the hospital today. Givori wasn’t likely to agree to an evening coffee chat, either. This day was shaping up to be a well-deserved break after a grueling trip and a morning filled with unpleasant moments.

Besides, nothing was stopping us from talking to the locals in °22-1-20-21-14. Who knows, we might even manage to speak with some military personnel – maybe luck would favor us there, too.

For a moment, I froze, replaying the journey here in my mind. The documents we’d prepared were impeccable; we’d passed all the customs checkpoints with ease. But…

How had my file disappeared from the investigation database? Why hadn’t the Reaper found me in their system? Where had my name gone? The memory of that night at the checkpoint resurfaced, chilling me to the bone.

“Steph?”

“Ah? Yeah… You’re right,” I replied with a forced smile. Slowly, we began walking toward the checkout, glancing around.

Upstairs, the noise was growing louder: the sirens, which my ears had gradually gotten used to, blared more frequently; I thought I could hear echoes of gunfire reverberating through the streets – or perhaps it was just the confusion caused by the sound of cash registers and arcade games on the upper floor.

The small queue at the checkout barely moved; the cashier, half-asleep, scanned purchases without any sense of urgency. We waited with melancholic patience; Sam even had time to dash off to the philosophy section. Meanwhile, outside the bookstore, a commotion began. Voices grew louder.

I felt my insides tighten and freeze, my senses sharpening as if on high alert.

The customer in front of us left the store, studying their purchase intently. Sam paid first and stepped aside, flipping through a book, while I kept glancing out the glass panels. The confusion outside was thickening. People were hastily leaving the grocery store and heading toward the stairs.

There were no siren sounds. There was no smoke. Visually, nothing seemed to have changed – yet panic had clearly gripped the crowd.

“Miss, your purchases!” The cashier’s insistent voice snapped me back. I nodded distractedly, quickly stuffing the books into my bag. I exchanged a worried glance with Sam, but he merely shrugged.

“Let’s get out of here and head back to the trailer,” I said firmly, grabbing Dort by the arm just above the elbow and practically dragging him toward the doors.

A second. Two. Just as Sam and I were nearly out of the bookstore, a piercing scream shattered the air – a scream filled with icy terror and desperate pain. For a moment, déjà vu yanked me back to the hospital, flooding my senses with the stench of antiseptics and spoiled blood.

I tightened my grip on Dort’s hoodie, holding him in place, and then I saw it…

It wasn’t violence in