"Alright, enough sulking," Sasha said, his tone slipping back into a kind of hardened seriousness, the easygoing warmth he'd shown minutes ago vanishing like smoke. He crossed the room with a confident, almost leisurely stride, reaching a small, cluttered desk by the window. As he rifled through a stack of papers, Beom watched, his curiosity piqued but masked under a neutral expression. Finally, Sasha picked up an envelope—a crisp, white envelope that seemed out of place among the worn, disordered papers. The envelope gleamed, pristine and almost regal, like it was a guest at a high-society event, untainted by the grimy room.
"What's that?" Beom asked, frowning as Sasha handed it over. He took the envelope gingerly, fingers tracing over the thick, elegant paper. There was no emblem, no ornate seal to betray its purpose—just an envelope, plain yet heavy, its weight lending it a kind of foreboding that made his pulse quicken.
"An invitation to the Vyshnevsky mansion," Sasha said, his tone slipping back into a relaxed drawl as he shrugged, as if they were discussing an ordinary dinner party and not an event at the infamous Vyshnevsky estate.
Beom's eyes narrowed, processing this, replaying Sasha's words like they might reveal something new if he studied them closely enough. An invitation, he thought, the phrase echoing in his head like a quiet warning. There was something eerie about it. The Vyshnevsky mansion. That was no ordinary place; it was practically a myth, whispered about in back alleys, associated with power, secrets, and perhaps—danger.
"They're having something like a ball," Sasha went on, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn, as if this conversation was dulling him. "Most of the big people'll be there... ministers, a few royals, maybe even the high-ranking officials." He paused, glancing at Beom with a smirk. "It'll be a crowd worth impressing."
Beom's thoughts twisted darkly. A ball? he thought, his grip on the envelope tightening. He fought the urge to crush it in his hand. "Don't they actually care that one of their own family members is dead?" he muttered, his voice laced with disgust. "And they're already having a ball."
Sasha let out a quiet chuckle, not of amusement but something colder, a shade more cynical. The laughter trailed off, leaving a tense silence between them before Sasha tilted his head, regarding Beom with a curious look.
"Do you actually think Yaroslav is dead?" he asked, his tone somewhere between teasing and deadly serious.
Beom's heart skipped a beat, his mind flickering back to that night, the memory rushing forward in sharp, jarring flashes. He saw Yaroslav, drenched and thrashing, his face twisted in rage as the cold water swallowed him whole. Beom remembered the weight of his own foot, braced against Yaroslav's shoulder as he kicked him, sending him plummeting into the depths. And Sasha—Beom vividly remembered the gunshot, the way Sasha's bullet had struck true. Yaroslav was dead, he told himself, the memory pulsing, trying to bring him assurance.
But what if...
"Hey!" Sasha's voice cut through his thoughts like a blade, sharp and insistent. A loud snap sounded as Sasha clicked his fingers in front of Beom's face. "Where the hell is your goddamn mind, Beom?"
Beom blinked, feeling the world shift back into focus, grounding himself in the present. He stared at Sasha, irritation and confusion wrestling for dominance within him. His pulse thundered in his ears, his mind swimming with unease, latching onto Sasha's words, the question of Yaroslav's death now haunting him like a ghost. Was Sasha implying something? Or was this just another mind game, a twist to pull him deeper into the web of secrets?
What if Yaroslav is alive?
"The Vyshnevsky mansion isn't that far from the Sergeyevich mansion in Novospassky Monastery. It's not pretty far," Sasha said, his voice low but filled with quiet authority as he adjusted his stance. "Right now isn't the time to be thinking about Yaroslav... Our minds should be focused on the code—the Seraphim code. This is only pushing us closer to our goal."
Beom listened, his mind still lingering on Yaroslav's possible survival, but he tried to shake it off. He couldn't let it distract him now. He had to stay focused. Seraphim... That damn code. Everything leads back to that. Focus on the plan, Beom, he reminded himself, the unease gnawing at the back of his mind. But how the hell did Yaroslav survive?
Sasha's next words caught his attention fully. "After I did some digging on whether Yaroslav was really dead, they gave me feedback saying no body can be found... so I'm clearly sure he is still alive." He said it matter-of-factly, as if it was just another piece of information to process, another stone to turn over in the pursuit of their goal.
Beom let out a sharp breath, staring at Sasha, his thoughts swirling. No body? After everything, there was no body? How is that even possible? I saw him go down into that water. I heard the gunshot. A chill ran through him as he considered the implications of Sasha's words. This guy is really strong... After all those harsh conditions, he still managed to survive? Damn... Beom could almost feel the weight of the situation pressing down on him, the uncertainty of it all weighing heavily.
"How sure are you that we'll get information about the code over there?" Beom asked, his voice tinged with skepticism. He couldn't help but voice his doubts, even as his thoughts kept spiraling back to Yaroslav. This whole thing could be a trap. Sasha has that look in his eyes—he's always planning something. But how much of it is just him pushing forward to the code, and how much is about other stuff?
Beom glanced at Sasha, who remained unmoved by his question, his expression impassive. Is he always this calm? This collected? Beom thought, noting how Sasha's demeanor never shifted, even when talking about something so dangerous. If I could be that sure of myself...
Sasha didn't respond immediately. Instead, he simply stood up and moved toward the desk, his footsteps silent on the polished floor. Beom watched, heart hammering in his chest. What now? He tried to control his breath, trying to shake off the unease. He couldn't afford to let his guard down.
Then, without warning, Sasha reached for another envelope, a larger one this time, its edges sharp and crisp. The moment Sasha laid it on the desk, the weight of it felt more significant, almost ominous. What the hell is in there?
"These are all the names of the people who helped in the development of Seraphim," Sasha said, his voice cutting through the silence. "But you know... they're all dead."
Beom stared at the envelope for a long moment, his fingers itching to open it, to see what was inside. All dead? His heart skipped a beat. He had already suspected that many of the people involved in the Seraphim project had met untimely ends, but hearing it from Sasha's lips felt different.
"Dead?" Beom murmured, his mind racing. Why are they all dead? What happened to them?
Sasha didn't give any further explanation, leaving Beom to piece together the rest of the story himself. With a heavy sigh, Beom slowly opened the envelope, pulling out the carefully organized pages inside. The names of the dead were listed one by one, each one a testament to someone who had been involved in the creation of something far more dangerous than anyone could have known.
As he scanned the list, Beom's eyes began to twitch with irritation. Who are these people? His mind wandered back to the snippets of information he had gathered over the years about Seraphim and the shadowy figures involved. Some of the names were familiar, but many weren't. His eyes stopped at one name—"Semyon Mikhailovich."
I know this name. Beom's heart skipped again as he remembered where he had heard it before. Mikhailovich... that's the guy who disappeared under strange circumstances about five years ago. He was last seen in the Eastern European territories... What the hell happened to him?
Beom felt a wave of unease wash over him. How did they all die? The question lingered in his mind as he flipped through the pages, each death more mysterious than the last. Some had died in suspicious accidents, others in violent confrontations, and some just seemed to have vanished without a trace.
"How did they die?" Beom asked, his voice barely more than a whisper as he continued to scan the papers. His eyes were burning with a need to understand, to connect the dots between these deaths and the larger picture that was quickly starting to form.
Sasha didn't respond immediately. He let Beom go through the pages, his posture relaxed as he leaned against the desk, waiting for the inevitable question. Beom could feel Sasha's gaze on him, but he didn't look up. His mind was too focused on the names, on the patterns.
Finally, Sasha spoke, his voice calm, yet cold. "Some were killed by their own colleagues—accidents, that's what they'll tell you. But when you look closer, it's clear they were silenced. Others... well, they disappeared off the face of the earth, leaving no trace behind."
Silenced... Beom repeated the word in his mind. Is that what they do to people who know too much? He felt a creeping dread fill his chest, but he forced it down. This was a game. A dangerous game. And he had no choice but to play.
Beom shook his head, trying to clear the fog of confusion. I need to keep it together. We need to keep moving forward. But the weight of all this knowledge, of all these deaths, pressed heavily on his shoulders.
"Who killed them, Sasha?" Beom's voice was low, almost pleading for answers, but he knew better than to expect a full response. Sasha wasn't the type to give easy answers. He's hiding something. But Sasha didn't speak. Instead, he just turned and walked to the window, his back to Beom, as if the conversation was over.
Beom clenched his fists, feeling the burn of frustration and anger rise inside him. This is too much. Too many secrets. Too much blood on everyone's hands. But I have to keep going. For the code...