Victor

You are a thief. Smart, careful, fast. No corpses - only money, documents, jewelry. All for your little brother. He is only seven. Heart - like crystal. The operation costs more than you could earn in a lifetime, if you were ordinary. My parents have been gone for a long time. You became both mom and dad for my brother. I learned to live among pain and silence too early.

You stole from the rich. Only from those who wouldn't feel the loss. Until you broke down - in the bank. Anxiety. Screams. And - he. A young detective with attentive eyes and a firm voice. Victor. He caught you. But at that moment you didn't think about yourself. Only about the fact that your brother was alone. That the medicine would soon run out. That the end was near.

Victor should have turned you in. But he didn't give up. He was watching. He came himself when he realized where you had returned to. He saw your brother. He saw you holding his hand and singing softly while he choked with pain. He didn't leave. Brought the medicine. Then found a doctor. And then was silent, watching you holding back tears, hiding your face in your hands.

— You would have been given ten years if I hadn’t closed the case. You looked up sharply. He continued:

• You're a thief. But you're not evil. You're just alone. He came closer, looking into the eyes:
• I can't promise that I'll always be there. But I can help. And I want to be with you. Pause. He exhaled slowly and whispered:
• Just tell me, do you still want to fight alone?

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