Under the harsh glare of the freight elevator's electric light, Maxim's light gray eyes gleamed with a metallic sheen as they scrutinized Daniel's face. Evidently, his appearance was quite worn, prompting Maxim to inquire anxiously.

"Can you manage the walk to the car?"

"Yes, I can manage," Daniel shifted his gaze downward, avoiding eye contact with the man he harbored disdain for. Like the others, Maxim seemed indifferent to inflicting pain upon him, treating him as though he were insignificant, merely an object to be manipulated. The elevator jolted to a stop at the underground parking level, exacerbating Daniel's nausea, causing him to sway and tightly shut his eyes - even the harsh light was unbearable to look at.

"Damn," Maxim said, his grip on the elbow noticeably softer as he guided Daniel across the parking lot permeated with the scent of car oil and gasoline. "We're almost there, there's water in the car."

"I'd prefer soda, it might help," Daniel mumbled, navigating blindly and breathing through his mouth to avoid the strong odors.

"Soda?" Maxim paused briefly and offered, "Ah, cola? I believe there's some in the fridge, let's check it out."

"Hold on," Daniel, feeling a nauseating lump rise in his throat, quickly scanned the area for a trashcan and lunged towards it, but Maxim instinctively pulled him back towards himself. Daniel ended up throwing up on the dirty concrete floor, his palms damp against his knees. 

Maxim, releasing his grip and groaning, paced nervously nearby, his every movement heightening Daniel's anxiety - it seemed like he might strike him again in frustration over the delay. As Maxim made a step forward, Daniel shuffled to the side, nearly losing his balance, his head spinning violently as if he were intoxicated.

"I'll just... Damn," Maxim breathed out, his voice strained, catching Daniel as he stumbled and helping him to his feet. "Let me walk you to the car. Are you okay?"

"Not really," Daniel replied honestly, turning away. For some reason, the embarrassment of littering in a public place surfaced, and Daniel stared blankly at the yellow-brown vomit. "We should clean it up."

"No need, there are cleaners here," Maxim said, guiding him between the cars, and Daniel followed slowly. His head throbbed and spun, but he felt a little better, at least the nausea had subsided.

Maxim settled him into the car, shut the door, then deftly circled around and took his seat. He opened the mini-fridge, let out a satisfied grunt, and retrieved a fogged-up can of Coke, offering it to Daniel tentatively.

"A hot tea with lemon would be better..."

"Oh, no," Daniel shuddered, recalling the Russian custom of using black tea with lemon and sugar to remedy everything from colds to hangovers. He grabbed the can, barely pulled the tab, and eagerly took a sip from it. The sugar and caffeine infused him with energy almost immediately, alleviating the headache. Daniel slouched in the seat, ruefully realizing that all he could do in his situation was savor the temporary relief.

"I'm sorry I hit you," Maxim whispered quietly, so as not to be overheard by Artem in the front seat. "I was extremely angry. Very angry. And scared. They'll have my head if anything happens to you."

Daniel mumbled without turning to face him. He didn't want to make eye contact with Maxim, but he could understand that there would be no reward for his escape.

"I can offer you some painkillers," Maxim leaned over, retrieved the first aid kit, and began searching through it. "Here you go."

"Not unless you're going to hit me again," Daniel stared blankly out the window, watching as the gray, dreary Moscow scenery passed by. "I'd rather wait until later, or else you might overdose me."

"I won't hit you again," Maxim assured, his voice tinged with regret. "I apologized already."

Daniel smirked lopsidedly. Maxim might have anticipated an apology for the escape attempt, but Daniel had no intention of offering one. He believed he had acted as anyone in his situation would, seizing the opportunity to flee from his torment. It didn't pan out this time, but such things happen. If presented with a similar chance in the future, he would take it without hesitation.

The shreds of his dignity prevented him from groveling before his captor in a cowardly attempt to curry favor. Daniel had refused to stoop to such levels even during his time in prison. Oddly enough, in hindsight, the zone seemed like the lesser evil – there, at least, he had clarity and certainty. He was sentenced to three years under part 1 of Article 228 and already served seven months. Another two and a half years of suffering, and he would have been released. But here, in this situation, he faced total uncertainty about his fate and prospects. It was clear that he had made a mistake, and now he would have to endure the consequences.

Daniel, lost in his melancholic reverie, was oblivious to the onset of sleep. He startled awake with a cry when Maxim gently nudged him. His expression was somber, betraying the weight of his recent ordeal - it was evident that Daniel now harbored a deep fear of Maxim. He slouched against the car door, attempting to compose himself, and wiped the sweat from his brow. Artem, who had turned from the driver's seat to observe them, cast a brief glance at the solemn Maxim before fixing his gaze on Daniel. Apparently drawing some conclusions, he spoke curtly.

"I'll accompany you to the apartment."

Maxim clenched his jaw tightly and exited the car, slamming the door with a resounding thud. Daniel, after a brief pause, followed suit, emerging from his side and pausing expectantly, awaiting instructions. It had become a habit to wait for guidance on what to do and where to go - seven months in prison had been enough to reshape behavioral patterns, turning a free man into a mere automaton. Artem clicked the car lock shut and approached Daniel, positioning himself within arm's reach, while Maxim fidgeted anxiously near the parking elevator.

"Let's go," Artem gestured towards the elevator, prompting Daniel to reluctantly comply. He entered the elevator first, resisting the urge to turn away from both men and instead focusing his gaze downwards, fixating on the tips of his sneakers. Two pairs of similar black, nondescript dress shoes pointed towards him, as if both the driver and the bodyguard were poised to grab him. Daniel flinched - there seemed to be no escape from the confined space. And even if he managed to leave, he wouldn't recklessly sprint down the stairs only to be apprehended by guards in the lobby. No, enough escaping for today.

Both of them accompanied him into the apartment, as Artem had instructed. It was apparent that Artem believed Daniel was safer away from Maxim's presence, as he cast a disapproving glance towards Maxim and somberly directed Daniel with a tone that brooked no argument.

"You rest while we order food."

"Alright," Daniel murmured, feeling a sense of relief as he retreated to the bedroom. There, he locked the door, though it offered only a fleeting sense of security given Maxim's possession of a master key. Obediently, he stepped into the shower, shedding his clothes as he went. 

The large mirror in the bathroom reflected back a pallid, haggard face with dull eyes, the tragic contour of shadows beneath his cheekbones accentuated by an unkempt three-day stubble, and disheveled hair tousled from sleeping in the car. He appeared to be five years older than his actual age, yet he felt as though he were seventy, devoid of desire for anything but peace.

The hot water instantly lifted his spirits. Daniel let it cascade over his body, washing away the unpleasant taste of vomit, while he lathered up his skin with soap, wincing at the soreness from Maxim's forceful blows. Once done, he turned the water to cold and stretched out, feeling the icy sensation burn his steamed skin and sharpen his senses. Emerging from the shower, he felt chilled but temporarily refreshed. He diligently brushed his teeth, swished Listerine around his mouth, and sighed sadly as he regarded his reflection. 

The idea of facing the guards for a meal didn't appeal to him in the slightest. The thought of eating at that moment was repugnant, but the appeal of getting into bed was compelling. After enduring what he had, all he wanted was to sleep, ideally for a full twenty-four hours, or even just a couple of days. However, he doubted anyone would allow him such a luxury now. His inner instinct warned him that he would likely face a trial for his escape. Artem's presence gave him some hope that the proceedings might not resort to physical violence, but overall, the situation remained bleak.

Daniel slipped into a plush terry robe as he moved from the bathroom to the bedroom. Methodically, he donned fresh, luxury brand clothes—underwear, socks, jeans, a T-shirt, and a hoodie - all meticulously chosen to fit him perfectly. He zipped up the hoodie snugly around his neck for a sense of psychological comfort. Slipping into another pair of sneakers, he settled onto the bed, ready to be summoned when needed.

 Exhaustion weighed heavy on his eyelids, pulling him into a deep, dreamless sleep. Suddenly, a sharp knock on the door shattered the tranquility, jolting him awake. Daniel bolted upright, disoriented until Maxim's urgent voice broke through the haze.

"Get out here! Quickly! Damn it, where's the key?"

Daniel ran his fingers through his stiff hair, shaking off the remnants of sleepiness, and teetered on the edge of the bed, trying to fully awaken. With a sigh, he rose to his feet and opened the door himself, preempting any further delays that might aggravate Maxim. Tensing up, he braced himself for Maxim's wrathful glare, half-expecting another blow, but he let out a faint breath of relief when Maxim waved his hand angrily and retreated to the table.

"Don't lock yourselves in anymore," Maxim grumbled.

"I just wanted to sleep," Daniel said casually, omitting the "in relative safety," but the implication was clear. Why else would he have locked himself in? He glanced at Maxim and Artem, seated at the table, and asked.

"You wanted to talk?"

"Not we, but..." Artem began, but was cut off.

The front door burst open as if kicked, and Alexander, flanked by two more bodyguards, stormed in. The sensation of flight was accentuated by the billowing hips of his light summer trench coat with the distinctive Burberry lining, the tousled strands of his rain-dampened blond hair, and his brisk, purposeful stride. 

The small living room suddenly felt crowded, not because of additional visitors, but because of his presence. Daniel was pushed back by the wave of restrained anger emanating from Alexander, evident in his narrowed green eyes. Daniel retreated from the panoramic window, his fists clenched nervously, awaiting the confrontation. It was as if the interminable, frustrating wait of those empty days had come to an abrupt end, like the irritating, monotonous strumming of a guitar that abruptly stopped with a broken string.