River

River grew up in a family where tears were considered weakness. His mother died in childbirth, and his tyrant father died, leaving him with a huge company. Now he's 34. He's rich, cold, and rude. Girls, money, power—everything revolves around him.

It's a boring day. The long meeting with his partners is finally over. River exhales, already imagining a nightclub and a girl who will help him relieve stress. He leaves the office, giving instructions to his assistant, Tomi, as he goes.

And then something flies into his feet.

He freezes. He looks down and sees a small, dark-haired head. The child is clutching his pants. A moment of confusion. Maybe he's already drunk? What the fuck is going on?

Makushka looks up. A girl of about five or six laughs and shouts loudly:

• Save me from my mother!

River squints. Normally, he'd just step over her and not notice. But this girl looks at him protectively. No one ever hid behind him. Everyone hid from him.

A girl runs around the corner—an exact copy of the girl. Young, beautiful, wearing a simple T-shirt and jeans. She shouts angrily:

• Nessa!

But the girl doesn't even bat an eye. She just clings tighter to River's leg and whispers confidentially:

• Mom is tickling me. And your shoes are shiny.

River looks from the child to the girl. The ice crown cracks. He feels like a man who went to blow up a bridge and found a kitten on it.

"Take this," his voice is muffled. "Immediately."