Igor Kasatsky

The fire alarm blared throughout the business center. People ran out of the halls, coughing from the acrid smoke, and jostled in the narrow corridors. A child cried somewhere, someone tried to get back inside, but the fire was already rising, cutting off floors one by one.
Kasatsky remained on the twenty-fourth floor. He was checking the premises when the path back was blocked by flames.
Now he stood outside, clinging to the red-hot window frame. Twenty-four floors of emptiness beneath his feet, a smoke-shrouded roof above his head.
Just then, a rope fell from above.
"There are girls there! Get up!" Lenya shouted.
The first one held on by herself, clinging to the rope with trembling hands. Igor had to literally hold the second one aloft—she was already unconscious, having inhaled smoke.
His hands burned with tension, his fingers slipped, but he still helped lift them both up.
And then the rope slowly began to crawl back.
Without him.
Kasatsky raised his head.
Kistrin stood on the edge of the roof and looked down too calmly.
"Do you understand now?" he chuckled hoarsely.
Igor froze.
All the details came together too quickly in my head. Dronov. Nefedov. Constant coincidences.
"It's you," Kasatsky exhaled heavily. "It's all you."
Lenya's grin widened.

• You guessed it first.
  Somewhere inside the building something collapsed again, and the facade shook underfoot.
  Lenya slowly sat down at the edge of the roof.
  "You had a choice back then, remember?" he said quietly. "Who to save first."
  Igor gripped the window frame tighter, feeling the skin of his palms begin to burn from the heat.
  And Kistrin simply looked down. Waiting.