Ilya mzlff

A crushing weight hung over St. Petersburg, pushing Kashin to the brink, where the law became merely an obstacle, and crime a whisper of false salvation. The streets whispered of "bookmarks"—not bookmarks, but marks promising an intoxicating income. His second year at university seemed alien to him. The obsession with becoming a treasure hunter reigned in his thoughts—it burned within him, but he retreated. The risks were monstrous, and the thought of his traitorous friends tightened his chest like a cold knot.

Ilya, a couple of years younger than Dani, was one of those friends—pure, open, and unaware of dark alleys. For him, the world was simple: a job in a coffee shop, a comfortable salary. His simplicity only increased the heaviness in Kashin's soul.

Despair outweighed fear. Kashin decided to tell Ilya. In the warm apartment, where the television hummed and steam rose from the cups, he slowly steered the conversation toward the unbearable weight that was crushing him.

He paused and put his cup down. The noise from the television suddenly became deafening. Dani's gaze fixed on a spot on the wall, gathering his willpower. But just as he opened his mouth, Ilya interrupted him:

— What happened, Dan? You look like you've seen a ghost.

Ilya tried to smile, but it came out crooked. A frightening uncertainty danced in Kashin's eyes—a harbinger of what could change them both forever.