The silence of the apartment was broken only by the subtle buzzing of the hallway lamp and the rhythmic sound of the wind coming in through the broken bedroom window. Michael walked with calm steps to the room, stopping beside the bed.
Raniel was still unconscious, his head slightly tilted to the side. Michael watched the man's slow breathing for a few seconds, measuring the exact time when the trauma to the nervous system would lose its effect. Without hurry, he pulled a wooden chair from the corner of the room, positioned it two meters from the bed and sat down, crossing his legs and waiting.
Exactly twelve minutes later, Raniel's fingers twitched. He let out a muffled groan, blinked rapidly trying to adjust his vision in the dimness, and tried to sit up abruptly.
The sharp pain in his collarbone hit him immediately, making him curse and fall back onto the mattress.
"Ah, fuck..." Raniel grumbled, covering his face with his hands before pulling them away and staring at Michael, who remained motionless in the chair. "Poor little bones of mine. You really don't know how to play nice, do you? A good morning or a 'welcome back' would be much more elegant."
"You are alive because you are still useful," Michael declared, his voice completely devoid of emotional tone.
Raniel let out a weak laugh, sitting up slowly while carefully holding his shoulder. He looked around, noticing the shattered window and the minimalist decor of the place.
"What a warm welcome. A half-destroyed apartment, a cracked clavicle and a cold monologue. What happened? Did the woman you went to visit out there not want to buy you a coffee?"
Michael didn't answer. He just kept holding his fixed, surgical gaze.
"Alright, alright. No jokes until the master gives permission," Raniel said, raising his good hand in surrender, though the sarcastic smile never left his lips. "Let's get straight to the point, then. If you didn't throw me off the fourth floor again to finish the job, it's because you want something. What is it?"
"The Institute didn't end when the building burned," Michael said. "There are other survivors scattered around. You know who they are and where they are."
Raniel's expression changed for a fraction of a second. The mocking gleam gave way to a calculating coldness, reminding exactly the type of killer he had been trained to be. But the moment passed so quickly it seemed like a hallucination.
"Ah, so the great prodigy boy needs my help? How ironic," Raniel mocked, leaning forward, ignoring the twinge in his chest. "And what do I get for helping you hunt our old 'classmates'? A medal of honor or a shallow grave behind the building?"
"You get the opportunity to keep breathing. And the chance to try to surpass me, as you so desire," Michael replied directly. "But while we are on the same route, you follow my rules. If you try to stab me in the back before it's time, I will shut down your nervous system permanently before your brain processes the movement."
Raniel stared at Michael for long seconds. The silence in the room grew dense, heavy, until Raniel let out a genuine laugh, shaking his head.
"You are terrifyingly boring, Michael. Truly. It must be enormously tedious to spend twenty-four hours a day inside your head."
He got up from the bed slowly, adjusting his jacket and cracking his neck.
"But you know what? I accept the deal. A temporary contract between a dull sociopath and a misunderstood genius. Where do I sign?"
"There is no contract," Michael said, getting up from the chair. "Only survival."
"Perfect. I love the informality," Raniel replied, walking to the bedroom door and looking toward the kitchen. "Now, talking about really important things: my collarbone is crushed, I just woke up from a knockout and I'm starving. Do you have anything decent to eat here or does your diet consist of air and that tea that smells like weeds?"
Michael walked past him without answering, heading toward the living room to reorganize the space.
"I'll take that as a 'no'," Raniel shouted from the kitchen, opening cabinets and banging pots. "Relax, kid. I can see I'm going to have to teach you how to live while we hunt these guys. First rule of our alliance: nobody works on an empty stomach!"
Michael stopped in the living room, listening to Raniel's uninterrupted chatter echo through the apartment. The gears on the board had shifted, but for Michael, every piece — even the most unpredictable one — remained under his absolute control.