Nikolai's knees hit the concrete.
It wasn't pain.
It wasn't fear in the way he understood fear.
It was the sudden absence of everything that had ever made him feel large.
His heart slammed against his ribs, fast and wrong, as if it were trying to escape him. His fingers went numb. The phone slipped from his hand and clattered uselessly across the floor, its screen cracking but still alive.
Time stretched.
Not frozen—just slowed enough for the truth to settle.
The whistling had stopped.
The man stood there.
Blood-drenched. Calm. Breathing steady. Blue eyes locked on him with no heat, no curiosity—just intent.
The phone on the floor crackled.
Maxim's voice tore through the silence, warped and sharp through the fractured screen.
"Nikolai—what's happening? Who is that? Answer me!"
Nikolai didn't hear him.
His vision tunneled. His breath came shallow. The room dissolved.
