Ivan pushed open the door to the small room and stepped inside, his gaze sweeping across the dimly lit space. The air smelled faintly of dust and stale perfume. His eyes quickly found her, huddled on the narrow bed, wrapped in a quilt so tightly she resembled a cocoon. Only the back of her head, a mess of disheveled hair, peeked out from beneath the layers.
Still, Ivan didn't need to see her face. His intuition told him exactly who she was.
"Well, you hid yourself pretty well," he said casually, his voice breaking the quiet. "Took me half an hour to search every room one by one."
The figure on the bed flinched, her small frame trembling slightly under the covers. Slowly, as if piecing together a distant memory, she turned to face him. Her wide, tired eyes studied him with a mixture of disbelief and recognition. The quilt slipped from her face, revealing cheeks marked with the faint red lines of fabric pressed too long against her skin.
"You're… that big brother?" she asked hesitantly, her voice fragile, almost childlike, as if she didn't fully trust her own memory.
Ivan smiled softly. "Yeah, it's me. Do you remember?"
"You… you were the last person to talk to me…" she murmured, her voice trailing off. "I mean… not counting them. My family."
Her words carried a bitter edge, and Ivan's expression darkened ever so slightly. "You looked a lot happier the last time we met," he remarked, though his tone was gentle.
Martha didn't respond. She lowered her head, her small hands gripping the edge of the quilt as if it were her last shield against the world. Her silence was answer enough.
Ivan didn't push her. He took a tentative step forward, then another. Seeing no resistance from her, he sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to make her feel cornered. Up close, the signs of her struggle were painfully clear. Faint bruises marred her arms and neck; old marks, long faded but still visible. Ivan's jaw tightened imperceptibly at the sight.
"What are you doing here?" Martha finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"At first? To make some money," Ivan admitted, leaning back slightly. "But now… well, now it's for something else."
She blinked, her curiosity briefly overtaking her wariness. "What is it?"
Ivan chuckled, his tone teasing. "That's a secret."
Martha frowned, her lips pressing into a pout. For a moment, she almost looked like the girl he had met before, unburdened by the weight of her circumstances. "You're kind of mean," she muttered, though there was no real venom in her voice.
Ivan ignored the comment, his expression turning more serious. "Do you know what your family plans to do with you?" he asked.
Her fingers tightened around the quilt, pulling it up higher. "I don't know," she said softly, avoiding his gaze.
"Really?" Ivan didn't press further. He didn't mention the experiments, the grotesque plans to use her for their twisted wizardry. She didn't need to know, not yet.
Instead, he shifted his tone, making his next words deliberate and clear. "I can get you out of here."
Martha's head shot up, her eyes wide with shock and a flicker of hope. "What? Are you serious?"
"Very serious," Ivan replied, his voice steady. "Do you want to leave this place?"
Her response came immediately, almost like a reflex. "Of course! I dream about it every single day!" she said, sitting up suddenly. Her small frame shook with excitement, but then she hesitated, doubt creeping into her voice. "But… how? How can I do that?"
"You don't have to worry about that," Ivan assured her, leaning closer. "Tomorrow, maybe at noon, or earlier, something will happen. Everyone here will lose their minds for a short time. You'll sense it."
Martha's brow furrowed, confusion and fear mixing on her face. Ivan reached out and gently took her hand, pressing a small glass vial into her palm. The liquid inside glinted faintly in the dim light.
"When that happens," he continued, "drink this. Then run. Don't stop until you reach the dock on King Street. The faster, the better."
Martha stared at the bottle, her hands trembling. She looked back at Ivan, her voice breaking. "Is this… is this real?"
Ivan nodded firmly. "It's real."
"But…" she hesitated, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her forehead on them. "Why? Why are you doing this for me?"
Ivan paused. It was a good question. Why was he doing this? At first, it had been about survival; a thousand dollars and a job that would tide him over. Then it had become about defiance, about thwarting the Metallia family's cruel ambitions. But now?
Now it was something more.
He took a deep breath, his voice quiet but steady. "Because you can trust me, Martha. Maybe more than anyone else."
Martha lifted her head, her eyes searching his. "Why?" she whispered.
Ivan smiled faintly, a warmth in his gaze that softened the sharpness of his usual demeanor. "Because I have nothing to gain by helping you. No money. No power. Nothing."
Her brow furrowed in confusion, but Ivan continued, his tone growing softer, almost tender. "When someone is willing to help you, not for money, not for power, not for their own benefit; there's only one reason left."
Martha's lips parted slightly, her breath catching as she listened.
"That person," Ivan said, his smile deepening, "is simply following their heart."
For the first time in what felt like forever, Martha's face softened. She looked down at the small bottle in her hands, gripping it tightly as if it were the only thing tethering her to hope.
Ivan didn't linger in the room. After saying his piece, he turned and walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.
Martha sat in silence, her thoughts a swirling mix of confusion and fragile hope. The small bottle in her hand felt heavier than it should, as if it carried the weight of her future. She held it tightly, her fingers wrapping protectively around its smooth glass surface. The liquid inside shimmered faintly; a clear, sky-blue solution, as pure and endless as the sky visible through the cracks in the window shutters.
She stared at it for a long time, her mind replaying Ivan's words. Something about the way he spoke reminded her of someone, her father. Her late father, the only person who had ever made her feel safe in this fractured, chaotic world. He'd once said something similar to her, something about trust and following your heart.
Of course, this didn't prove anything. Ivan was a stranger, someone she barely knew. But… Martha wanted to believe him. Maybe because she had no one else. Or maybe because, deep down, she wanted to believe that not everyone in her life was looking to use her.
Her eyes drifted to the small plate of food sitting on the table beside her bed. A stale piece of bread and a half-empty glass of water. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep her going. She took a deep breath, set the bottle down gently, and picked up the bread. Biting into it, she chewed in large, determined bites. She would need the energy for whatever tomorrow brought.
---
The Next Morning
By eleven o'clock, the docks at St. Francis were alive with activity, the salty air filled with the sounds of seagulls and the rhythmic lapping of waves against the piers. Among the bustling workers and fishermen, two unusual figures stood out; one tall, one small, both unmistakably out of place.
On the left stood Charlie, his small frame wrapped in a child-sized trench coat. Dark sunglasses perched on his nose gave him a serious, almost comically over-the-top air, but the determined set of his jaw suggested he wasn't joking.
Next to him was Ivan, clad in a navy coat that rippled slightly in the ocean breeze. A shoulder bag hung at his side, but his relaxed stance and the faint smirk on his face betrayed his confidence.
"Well," Ivan said, crossing his arms as he looked down at Charlie, "I think it's safe to say you've completely mastered speedboat driving now."
Charlie groaned dramatically, pushing his sunglasses up onto his forehead. "Sir, you're asking 'way' too much from a thirteen-year-old."
Ivan's smirk widened. "That's exactly why I know you've got it down," he said with a nod of approval. "You wouldn't be complaining if you didn't think you could do it."
Despite himself, Charlie couldn't help but grin, though it was fleeting. Ivan was counting on him, and that was both a privilege and a heavy responsibility.
"Alright," Ivan said, scanning the dock. "Where's the boat?"
"There," Charlie said, pointing toward the water. Ivan followed his gesture and spotted a speedboat floating quietly at the end of the pier. The boat was painted with the image of a big-headed shark, its cartoonish grin somehow both menacing and ridiculous.
"That's the one," Charlie confirmed.
Ivan nodded, impressed. "Not bad. Looks reliable."
He had rented the boat the day before for a hefty 100 dollars, a sum that made the speedboat club owner practically jump for joy. The man hadn't even asked too many questions, just handed over the keys and promised it was in good condition. Now, it was about to become a critical part of Ivan's plan to rescue Martha.
"Alright," Ivan said, turning back to Charlie. "Let's get started. But before we do, I need to ask you something."
Charlie tilted his head, curious.
"This is dangerous," Ivan said, his tone growing serious. "Really dangerous. It's not the kind of thing a kid your age should be involved in. If you want to back out now, I won't blame you. I've left two thousand dollars behind for you. That's more than enough to finish school, help your mom, and live a comfortable life."
Ivan's expression softened. "This isn't your fight, Charlie. You don't owe me anything."
Charlie was silent for a moment, his head bowed as he thought. But when he finally looked up, his face was lit with a bright, almost defiant smile. His eyes sparkled with youthful determination, and his voice was brimming with excitement.
"Sir," he said, "it's just like you told me last night."
He took a dramatic pause, then continued, his enthusiasm spilling over. "Driving a shark speedboat into a drug trafficking den, setting their stash on fire, and using the chaos to rescue a girl from an evil organization… this is 'so' cool!"
Charlie threw his arms out for emphasis. "I mean, come on! No matter how young or old you are, if you're not excited about something like this, then you're wasting your life!"
Ivan blinked in surprise, then burst into laughter. He laughed so hard his shoulders shook, and for a moment, the weight of their mission seemed to lift. When he finally regained his composure, he raised a hand and gave Charlie a big thumbs-up.
"That," Ivan said with a wide grin, "is exactly the answer I wanted to hear."
Charlie grinned back, his confidence bolstered. Together, they turned toward the shark-painted speedboat, ready to take the first step in what was sure to be a wild and dangerous day.