Mina stepped out onto the street bathed in golden sunlight. It was marvelous. The whole neighborhood had transformed, as if the night before had been merely a bad dream. Where everything was once gloomy and sad, now in the brilliant morning light, the world seemed vibrant and strangely confident.
Mina walked like a ghost, like nobody could see him. In truth, nobody actually bothered to notice him at all. He was clean, freshly dressed, well-shaven despite the fact that there was no trace of hair on his face. His appearance had changed dramatically from the night before. Yesterday, he had worn clogs along with a simple shirt and comfortable pants. Today, he wore a formal suit—a coat over the usual white shirt and oddly fitted pants, pants he could run in if needed. His feet were encased in long leather boots, their laces arranged in deliberately imperfect knots.
Now he walked ahead with purpose. He took the street to the main boulevard, where the city had come alive. Everyone seemed transformed by the morning light. Café bars were already open, filled with people seeking their morning boost of caffeine. Everything had changed overnight. But how?
Mina moved faster now, padding along without making a sound. Though he appeared not to pay attention to his surroundings, he effortlessly avoided every obstacle in his path, as if guided by some sixth sense. A small crimson stain began to bloom on his pristine white shirt—apparently, Grisham had dressed the wound incorrectly the night before. Mina merely nodded to himself and continued forward.
Near an alley—a dark place where nobody seemed to venture—Mina found a specific spot and waited. Why he was waiting at that particular location, nobody knew. But soon, a woman appeared as if from nowhere. She wore a long silky white dress adorned with ribbons and elaborate decorations of gold that caught the sunlight. Without a word, she handed him a sealed letter and disappeared back into the crowd.
Mina broke the seal and read the contents. The letter directed him to meet someone at the main office. Without hesitation, he made his way to a high-end establishment—an imposing wooden building whose façade spoke of nothing but opulence. It was one of the most prestigious law offices in town.
Upon entering, someone immediately escorted him to a tiny room in the back.
"Good morning, Mina. You're here," a smooth voice greeted him. "I've already found out what happened. It was an accident. I'm sad that Matthew died, but you know, let's move on."
The man behind the desk shifted some papers before continuing.
"So, your father gave me some information. We need to make sure that Ms. Grisham isn't causing us any problems. She's become a bit... loud lately." The man leaned forward. "You're pretty close to her son. Maybe you could suggest she be a little more... silent?"
Mina nodded, his face betraying nothing. He took another pile of letters offered to him and left the office, stepping back into the sunlight and bustling streets.
Eventually, Mina reached his next destination—a kindergarten. As before, nobody seemed to notice him. Shadowless, he entered and blended among the children and teachers until he found a specific room—a tiny office—and concealed himself inside.
No more than ten minutes passed before a woman appeared. When she saw him, a small scream escaped her throat.
"Who are you?" she demanded, one hand clutching at her collar.
"I'm your friend," he replied, his voice emotionless and harsh, contrasting sharply with his youthful appearance.
She stared at him with wide eyes. To her—a forty-something woman with gray streaks in her hair from many nights of worrying over her son—he appeared as little more than a child. She was dressed simply, like any school teacher: a modest yellow dress under a white coat, a long skirt, and a conventional white blouse. She removed her sunglasses, placing them on the desk.
"So, you're here from the Meiuri now?" she asked, voice trembling slightly. "Who are you, then?"
"I'm an assassin."
Her expression shifted from annoyance to raw fear, the blood draining from her face.
"But," Mina continued, his voice softening a fraction, "I have no intention of killing you."
She inhaled deeply, shoulders relaxing just slightly. "So why are you helping me instead of killing me?"
"Because we have an acquaintance in common," Mina said, eyes distant. "The same person who saved my life saved yours as well. I have no intention of causing you trouble. I'm only here to warn you."
He stepped closer, his shadow—if he had one—would have fallen across her desk.
"You should leave this situation to the others in the group. Another intervention like yesterday's would cost you your life."
Her fingers gripped the edge of the desk until her knuckles turned white. "Thank you, but you know this problem is impossible to solve."
"Your problem is impossible to solve," Mina agreed, his gaze piercing through her. "No matter what you do, you can't solve it. Whatever you try, they will continue. This will never change. Unless everybody dies, this will never change."
She caught her breath, inhaling loudly. Her breathing became more agitated, like whispers evolving into silent cries. After a moment of reflection, she turned to him, eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Mina turned and slammed the door behind him, walking down the hallway until he was lost among the innocent chaos of the kindergarten. Still, nobody noticed him.
Mina wandered through several streets until he reached a neighborhood that resembled his own. There, he retrieved a key hidden beneath a doormat and let himself into a cluttered apartment. The space was filled with various bottles and medical instruments scattered about, evidence of its owner's profession.
"Hey, Mina! What are you doing here?"
The voice belonged to Grisham, the same doctor who had been at Mina's place the previous night. He stood in the doorway, surprise evident on his face.
"I'm here to warn you," Mina said, his eyes scanning the room methodically.
"About what?" Grisham asked, stepping further into the room.
"Your mother is under observation," Mina replied flatly.
Grisham's expression changed rapidly. "For how long?"
"A while," Mina said. "Keep her busy. Keep her quiet."
Grisham sighed deeply, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "Thank you, Mina."
The doctor moved to a cabinet, his white coat swishing as he walked. Sunlight from the window caught his sharp features, highlighting high cheekbones and intelligent eyes. He leaned against the counter with practiced ease, studying Mina with newfound intensity.
"What do you need?" he asked, voice dropping to a lower, more intimate register.
"I need those sleeping aids," Mina replied.
Grisham's expression changed from concern to a sardonic smile, his lips curving upward as he moved closer to Mina. "Well, I won't give them to you," he said, his voice carrying a musical quality Mina hadn't noticed before. "I've hidden them."
"But I need them," Mina insisted, his own voice remaining flat.
"No, Mina, you don't," Grisham countered, reaching out to touch Mina's arm lightly. His fingers lingered a moment too long. "Those are good some nights, but not for all your life."
Mina stiffened at the touch but didn't pull away. The air between them seemed to thicken with unspoken words.
Grisham broke the tension, changing the subject. "So, what did you find out about those gales?"
"Well, I've seen one of the boats," Mina replied. "Strangely, there was no captain, no crew—nothing."
"So they're just shipwrecked?"
"I don't think so. The boat disappeared the following night, as mysteriously as it appeared."
"Sadly," Grisham murmured, his eyes never leaving Mina's face.
"Okay, so what other work do you have for today?" Mina asked, stepping back slightly.
"Nothing important," Grisham replied with a casual shrug that seemed practiced. "None of my business... again, of course."
Mina turned to leave, hand on the doorknob.
"Oh, Mina," Grisham called after him, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "See you tonight?"
Mina slammed the door behind him without answering, descending the stairs rapidly. But then, he paused and turned around, his mind already focused on his next destination.
The sun had begun its descent when Mina turned down a narrow alley. The shadows here were longer, the air cooler and thick with the scent of garbage and stale cigarettes. He moved silently, aware that he was being followed.
Three figures materialized from the darkness ahead, blocking his path. They were large men, their faces obscured by the shadows, but their intentions were clear from their stance.
"Well, look what we found," the tallest one said, his voice gravelly and harsh. "A little lost lamb."
Mina stopped, shoulders relaxed, hands loose at his sides. He didn't respond.
"Not very talkative, are you?" another man said, stepping forward. Light glinted off something metallic in his hand—a knife.
"The boss said you've been asking too many questions," the third man growled, cracking his knuckles loudly in the confined space. "We're here to make sure you stop."
Mina remained perfectly still, calculating distances, angles, possibilities.
The first man lunged forward, swinging a heavy fist toward Mina's face. In a movement almost too quick to follow, Mina ducked and twisted, using the man's momentum against him. There was a sickening crack as the attacker's arm broke at an unnatural angle. He screamed, the sound echoing off the brick walls.
The knife-wielder slashed wildly, but Mina was no longer where he had been. Moving like water, he slipped behind the man, fingers finding precise points on his neck. The man dropped to his knees, gasping for air that wouldn't come.
The third attacker backed away, suddenly uncertain. "What the hell are you?"
Mina didn't answer. He simply advanced, methodical and relentless. The man turned to run, but Mina was faster. A swift kick to the back of the knee sent him sprawling. Before he could recover, Mina was upon him.
The fight—if it could be called that—was over in less than a minute. Three bodies lay motionless on the grimy alley floor. Mina stood among them, breathing only slightly faster than normal. Blood dripped from a fresh wound on his side where the knife had found its mark. He pressed a hand against it, assessing the damage. Not fatal, but it would need attention.
Without looking back, he continued down the alley, disappearing into the gathering darkness. The wound throbbed with each step, leaving a trail of crimson droplets that glistened briefly before being swallowed by the shadows.
The hospital corridors were quiet at this late hour. Mina moved through them like a phantom, avoiding the few night nurses on their rounds. His wounded side had stopped bleeding, but the pain remained—a constant, burning reminder.
He found the room he was looking for and positioned himself in the shadows outside. Through the half-open door, he could see a doctor working. The man was hunched over a microscope, his white coat immaculate despite the late hour. Occasionally, he would make notes in a leather-bound journal, his handwriting precise and measured.
Nobody noticed Mina's presence, just as before. He watched the doctor for hours, memorizing his movements, his habits. The way he rubbed his eyes every twenty minutes. The way he checked his wristwatch compulsively. The way he muttered to himself when concentrating particularly hard.
What secrets did this doctor hold? What connection did he have to the boats, to Matthew's death, to the web of intrigue that seemed to ensnare everyone Mina encountered?
The doctor eventually stood, stretched, and locked the journal in a drawer before leaving the room. Only when the sound of his footsteps had completely faded did Mina emerge from the shadows. He moved to the drawer, lockpick already in hand.
The answers were close. So close he could almost taste them.
But that would be a story for another night.