“All right, we’re here,” the bodyguard’s low voice snapped me out of my stupor.

“Get moving,” Grant pushed me toward the door.

My flip-flops touched the tiles of the courtyard, I breathed in the evening air, cooled in the setting sun, and stretched my limbs. It had been a long drive, the traces of tears had long since vanished from my cheeks, and my mood had bathed in the moody silence inside the car, so the chirping of birds coming from the treetops surrounding the house gave me relief.

“This is where we leave you,” one of the three overly serious men in black bowed out.

The car turned back onto the road, hidden in the dark thicket, leaving us – me, the president’s son, and the switched-off fountain – to admire the sunset in the embrace of the approaching evening.

My companion looked at the house with some hopeless gaze, grinned bitterly, and dragged me to the front door. I managed to run a glance around the park that encircled the mansion, coming up like a thaw line to a pile of snow; then I stroke my eyes over the building itself, pleasantly decorated in beige and brown brick.

And the president’s suburban two-story residence could not fail to boast of such expanses - its wings stretched both east and west, the latter side of which included several freestanding outbuildings. The sun painted the windows copper-red, which made it seem as if there were petals of flame dancing in the glass.

I climbed the stairs with absurd happiness, and, deep down, I was glad that I was going to visit such an exquisite place. In my mind, the residence of President Cirkul could not help but breathe luxury and sophistication, and that was something that Rizor had a taste for.

The house greeted us with silence. And emptiness. Not a single person. No one came out to welcome us, no one looked out of the doorways as we walked down the corridor and up the marble stairs.

Out of curiosity, I wanted to ask where Cirkul Jr. was taking us, but he gave me such a warning glare that I decided not to open my mouth. But I wasn’t lost in suspense for too long, for I was graciously let through the huge double doors.

Almost all the curtains were closed, and the light from the only open window was barely enough to make a dim outline of the library. I had no time to be surprised since the chain pulled me onto the carpet and into the middle of the room. Without a word, Grant leaned over the stand, the quiet clinking of glass and murmuring, the guy threw his head back and drank a shot of whiskey in a gulp.

“You…” I was speechless for a moment as I stared at the bottle of scotch in his hand. “H-how can you drink alcohol in a situation like this? Especially on an empty stomach!”

He grinned in my face and leaned back in a chair. I walked in a wide arc around this crazy man and sat down on the couch opposite him.

“Be silent. Don’t say anything.”

Not his words – only a glimmer of wild undercurrent pain in his eyes stopped me from giving him another tirade.

Grant closed his lids and froze, only a shiver of his Adam’s apple and sparsely heaving shoulders distinguishing him from the dead man. His face seemed very pale against the dark background of the wall.

I exhaled and turned away, the chain links rattling on the carpet. Now I didn’t care about the demons of someone else’s soul, my own were doing the goddamn dance. For a couple of seconds I sat there with a wailer’s smile, struggling with myself, but then gave up, pressed my palm to my mouth and sobbed soundlessly, choking back silent tears.