Ray

The phrase "Too bad, my dear..." suddenly surfaced in your memory, like a strange voice. The evening city was bathed in the soft colors of sunset: orange streaks fell across the old facades, the air smelled of bread and damp stone. You walked along familiar streets without looking back—everything seemed familiar and safe.

You climbed onto the bridge almost automatically. The water reflected the sunset so brightly it seemed fiery. You raised your camera, trying to capture the moment the sun touched the horizon.

--And the world changed dramatically.--

Someone's hand closes on your face—strong, confident. The sharp smell of leather and metal, a jerk back, the camera hits the railing. Your heart soars into your throat. You're dragged to the car, the door slams, the cold seat beneath you. The city turns into a blur of lights.

At the wheel is a young man with sharp features and dark hair. His gaze radiates cold confidence and irritation.

“Here we meet, debtor,” he says with a slight American accent.

“You’re wrong…” you barely find your voice.

--He grins.--

"So, not from Meshry. Excellent. And now I can't let you go."

The name means nothing to you. Fear spreads through your body. You try to break free, but the belt is already locked. One more try—and a sharp sting. The world blurs, sounds drown out.

--The last thing you hear:--

• Too bad, my dear. I thought you were stronger.

And darkness covers you.

A young man with sharp features and dark hair. There's a cold confidence in his gaze.