The trial was a media sensation, generating widespread coverage. The case of Sennoy, convicted in record time, was quickly muted by the Bystritskys's case. Outside the courthouse, a thick crowd of onlookers and journalists gathered, eagerly awaiting the sight of the prisoner.

Daniel fidgeted nervously, adjusting the long strands of his wig. His sunglasses and voluminous scarf hid much of his face, while trendy oversized clothes disguised his broad shoulders. The pink hat, mirrored aviators, and long blonde hair transformed his appearance dramatically, making him nearly unrecognizable as he shifted anxiously from foot to foot, eyes glued to the courthouse door.

Despite the disguise, he felt uneasy. The crowd pressed against him, jostling him closer to the steps, their foul breath hot against his face - he had to resist the urge to lash out. But Daniel held back; he was already taking a significant risk by being there. Mr. Mason had strongly advised him to stay within the consulate grounds while his documents were being prepared, and until now, Daniel had complied. But missing this particular moment was out of the question. He needed to see him one last time, to look into those troubled green eyes. He couldn't fully explain why - it was just something he had to do.

Alexander must have sensed his presence - he couldn't help but. Living in Moscow meant Sennoy kept Daniel close, and during the trial, Alexander likely managed to extract some information from him. Yet, strangely, he hadn't contested the money transfer. As soon as Alexander was charged, Daniel emptied the cryptocurrency account, compensating himself for the moral damages with a far larger sum than he could have claimed in court - $150 million. The very amount Daniel was accused of stealing, now legitimized by his status as a co-owner of the account, went uncontested by the other co-owner. Whether Alexander hadn't noticed the loss amidst the chaos or simply no longer cared was unclear.

"They're saying he'll get a light sentence, maybe just a slap on the wrist," muttered a nearby man to his companion. "He claimed Fedorov kidnapped him and presented some evidence to support it. Clever bastard, huh? They'll probably get it down to manslaughter, even if it was premeditated. The lawyers will push for early release - he might not even serve two years. These rich pricks get away with everything!"

"If his father hadn't fallen ill, that bastard wouldn't be going to jail at all, mark my words," the other man responded confidently. "They would've taken care of him. He had the media in his pocket, and with enough pressure, they would've buried the story. The only reason it leaked was because his father's on his deathbed. Otherwise, they'd be too scared to let it out. The old man had the courts in his pocket long ago."

"I'd shake the hand of whoever leaked it," the first man said cheerfully, nudging Daniel and apologizing. "Sorry, miss, wasn't my fault - someone pushed me."

"It's fine," Daniel replied in a low voice, stepping up a stair to avoid hearing more.

Finally, the courthouse doors opened, and police officers emerged, forming a short corridor. They could have discreetly taken him out the back, but instead, they paraded him in front of the crowd, showcasing the triumph of justice. Daniel instinctively pulled back, but the crowd surged forward, carrying him toward the prisoner.

Alexander walked slowly, eyes downcast, not looking at the sides or at the prison van waiting at the foot of the stairs. The strong wind tousled his carefully styled hair - he was playing the role of a good boy, likely on his lawyer's advice. His attire was understated, not his usual luxurious style - not mass-market, but certainly not Brioni either. He wore a nondescript gray suit, white shirt, and blue tie. Georgy walked beside him, occasionally snapping at the officers who pushed him, speaking fervently - probably assuring Alexander that he'd get him out soon, that he'd try to protect him. But Daniel shook his head in disbelief - Fedorov's associates now had more power than Georgy.

Daniel elbowed his way backward, grimacing when someone shoved him in the ribs. Then he gasped: Georgy was roughly pulled aside by the police, and the bodyguards clashed with the officers.

Suddenly, Alexander lifted his head, scanned the crowd rapidly, and locked eyes with Daniel, as if sensing his presence. His attractive face turned pale and blueish, contorted in anguish. Alexander jerked, pulling away from the officers, his eyes pleading, his lips moving silently in Daniel's direction.

He recognized him...

Despite the careful disguise, the completely altered appearance - Alexander saw through it, as only someone deeply connected could.

Time seemed to freeze. The noise of the crowd faded, as if someone had turned down the volume. Daniel could hear his own rapid breathing, the thudding of his heart, and the rush of blood in his ears. The scene blurred, leaving only Alexander in focus - the man who had caused Daniel so much pain, and who had received just as much in return.

Alexander's lips moved desperately, his green eyes full of pain, trying to communicate as he was led down the steps. Daniel, stunned, tried to decipher the silent message, never breaking eye contact. He caught the words "sorry" and "Danny" in the movement of Alexander's lips. But then, Georgy, having escaped a few steps down, began scanning the crowd, his squinting eyes searching in Daniel's direction.

Danger! Run and don't look back.

Daniel shoved his way through the crowd, pushing past journalists and their cameras, squeezing nimbly through the throng as the noise surged back into his awareness. He was already at the edge of the crowd, pulling his hat down and burying his nose in his scarf, when he was rocked by a desperate, heart-wrenching cry.

The tormented scream cut through the cacophony, the clicking of cameras, and the sharp orders of the police.

"Daaaaaaaannnyyyyyyy!"

It was only then that Daniel realized Alexander had protected him to the last, both from the crowd and from Georgy, never pointing him out, even though that silence must have taken tremendous effort. The realization stirred a deep, aching sorrow. Daniel choked back a sob, trying to walk rather than run to avoid drawing attention. But as soon as he rounded the corner of the building, he broke into a frantic sprint, fleeing from the one who was about to endure unimaginable suffering.

Passersby jumped out of his way, some cursing, others glaring in indignant surprise. A few blocks later, the wig that had served its purpose flew off, along with the hat and sunglasses, landing on the sidewalk. The dreary Moscow landscape, dull to the point of nausea, blurred before his eyes. His cold muscles protested in jerky, uneven strides. His breath came in ragged gasps, his lungs convulsing with fitful sobs.

But Daniel kept running, determined to complete his final marathon through Moscow. Each sob, each exhalation, helped to purge the accumulated pain. It left him slowly, reluctantly, like a wound that bleeds out with each step. But eventually, the tension began to ease, his movements grew more coordinated, and the exercise released serotonin and dopamine into his system. The chemicals clashed with his irritation, gradually overpowering it.

The scenery changed - sidewalks, old mansions, modern high-rises, parks, bridges - reminders of all he wanted to forget. His feet slapped through puddles, squelched in mud, and tapped against wet asphalt paths. The gloomy sky frowned, grumbling with distant thunder, then wept lightly, cooling his burning face and wetting his parched lips. Daniel licked at the rainwater, which oddly tasted salty, as he ran down bridge stairs, ducked into tunnels, and cut through parks in an aimless race. Forward, always forward, away from his conscience, away from those tormented green eyes, away from the anguished cry echoing in his soul.

Alexander's voice continued to tear at him, turning him inside out, and constricting his throat. He could have handed him over to Georgy, condemning him to prison with the belief that he would eventually take revenge on his tormentor, as he had done before. But Alexander didn't betray him - instead, he let him go. He let him go despite his overwhelming love, his obsession. The gesture cut deep, hurting Daniel to the point of agony.

Daniel eventually stopped in a deserted park, collapsing onto a wet bench in exhaustion. His hands fumbled in his pocket for his headphones - he needed to drown out Alexander's voice, to overpower it with the beats of music before it overwhelmed him completely. He put the headphones in, pulled out his phone, and clicked on a random playlist. The algorithm seemed to understand his mood perfectly, starting with Linkin Park's haunting "Numb."

I'm tired of being what you want me to be
Feeling so faithless, lost under the surface
I don't know what you're expecting of me
Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes

Caught in the undertow, just caught in the undertow



I've become so numb, I can't feel you there



Can't you see that you're smothering me?
Holding too tightly, afraid to lose control
.

The misery gradually dulled into a numb apathy, allowing him to collect his thoughts and rise from the cold bench. A few minutes later, Daniel hailed a cab to the consulate. That was it - nothing else could keep him here. No one could hold him back now - not Sennoy, who was already on his way to the zone, not Matvey, who was in a coma, not Alexander, distressed in detention, and certainly not Georgy, now burdened with immense pressure.

"Are you all right? You've got blood on your cheek," Mr. Mason asked with a concerned frown.

"I'm fine, thank you. I must've scratched myself on a branch while running," Daniel mumbled.

"I'd advise you not to leave the consulate grounds again," Mr. Mason said, his lips forming a disapproving line as he moved slightly to block Daniel's path. "You're taking unnecessary risks. Also, I strongly urge you to reconsider pressing charges against Alexander Bystritsky. As your consular representative and as a citizen, it's for your own good."

"I once asked - no, begged - you, as a representative of the consulate, for help," Daniel interrupted harshly, his anger rising. "But you chose to believe my former company and their falsified evidence. So keep your recommendations and requests to yourself. I owe nothing to anyone. All I want is peace. Now, step aside."

"I'm sorry, Mr. King," Mr. Mason replied, lowering his gaze as he stepped aside. "I am guilty before you, which is why I want to see you compensated - by both the state and Mr. Bystritsky. You have enough evidence to start a trial. This is for your own protection."

"I don't want to have a pointless conversation. I've made my decision, and it's final," Daniel said as he turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door. "As soon as I get my papers, I'm heading back to the United States to forget everything that happened here. Just like you, Mr. Mason."

In his room, Daniel threw off his sweaty jacket and sneakers and sat down in a chair. After a moment's thought, he took out a second SIM card from his phone case. Since he was saying goodbye to the past today, he had to go all the way. Maxim answered immediately, the sound no longer masked by running water.

"You've got to be kidding, Daniel! You were the one who took him down, weren't you? Did you leak the files?"

"I did," Daniel replied coldly, preparing for the fallout. Maxim's loyalty to Alexander had helped him escape, but overall, he might not be swayed - he was accustomed to people's duplicity. And Maxim might take his master's downfall as a challenge.

"He gave them to me himself, promising to let me go in a year, but he lied. So I don't feel guilty."

"I don't intend to feel guilty either. But you could've warned me," Maxim sighed, sounding weary. "I'm retired now, so I won't be able to pass on any more information. Just keep in mind that Georgy won't let you go easily; he'll definitely find a way to get to you."

"I'm sorry, Maxim. I hope you'll be all right," Daniel said, feeling a pang of guilt for having misjudged a good man. "But Georgy has his hands full right now. Alexander's in prison, and he needs to ensure his safety, especially from rape. The empire is crumbling - most businesses are being hastily nationalized, some sold off. I'm guessing Georgy's barely sleeping, so dealing with me isn't a top priority. It'll be a long time before he liquidates assets and has the resources to come after me. And by then, the fire will have cooled. I wish I could meet you in person to thank you for your help. Goodbye, Maxim, and good luck."

"Thank you, Daniel. And I'm sorry I didn't help you sooner. I watched all that ugliness unfold for too long without intervening," Maxim said softly. He hesitated before continuing, his voice uncertain. "There's something I wanted to tell you... it might be important. Alexander didn't fight the trial, even though he could have. There were ways for him to avoid prison, but he didn't take them. I think he's completely lost his mind. Or maybe he did it to send you some kind of message. Do you understand that, Daniel?"

Daniel remained shockingly silent, barely able to breathe from the surge of emotion. Could it be true? Had Alexander willingly walked into the hell of prison because he believed it might be his only chance at redemption? The thought was almost inconceivable: to voluntarily plunge from Olympus into the depths of a stinking abyss, clinging to the desperate hope of forgiveness. His chest tightened with a familiar steel grip, and his throat constricted... Daniel yanked open his desk drawer, grabbed a blister pack of the sedative he'd been prescribed, and chewed down two tiny pills at once. The bitter taste grounded him, allowing him to set aside the silent phone - Maxim had already hung up minutes ago.

A message... a message... He instinctively clicked on the Instagram icon, an app he hadn't opened since his escape. He started reading the messages and slowly sank to the floor, the black lines on the screen searing into his memory - these were things he could never forget.

But gradually, a sense of calm washed over him. He didn't care about sacrifices, didn't care about anything anymore. If Alexander wanted to inject drama into his life, let him. It was possible the manipulative bastard was playing his usual twisted game - lulling Daniel into a false sense of security with his display of humility, only to strike the moment Daniel let his guard down. And once Alexander was out of prison, he could erase the charges, silence whoever needed to be silenced, and wipe the trial from existence. No, Daniel couldn't believe it. Selfish bastards don't change. He'd rather focus on the people who truly mattered to him.

Daniel swapped out his SIM card and dialed Baba Songolik. Her sleepy, soothing voice set him at ease, like a sip of fresh, clean water.

"Hello, Daniel. Did you get your passport?" she asked.

"Hello, Grandma. I'll get it tomorrow morning," Daniel replied, tugging at the damp collar of his sweatshirt with a grimace. "I'll be flying out tomorrow. Did you get your passport?"

"I did, but - oh. I got one for you too," Mrs. Songolik giggled, catching his confusion.

"I don't understand," Daniel said, letting the gathered fabric of his sweatshirt and T-shirt fall back down in surprise.

"What's there to understand? You'll have a passport in the name of Ivan Gordeev, my grandson. Is that a bad thing?" Baba Songolik clicked her tongue reproachfully. "You said yourself that your enemies are powerful, with far-reaching influence. They'll be looking for Daniel, not Ivan," she added, with a touch of condescension. "Do you understand?"

"Uh-huh. Hold on a second," Daniel said, setting the phone aside and pulling his wet clothes over his head. He picked up the phone again. "Let me guess. Two chickens and a bottle of vodka?"

"One chicken and one bottle of vodka. It was harder the first time, wasn't it?" Baba Songolik yawned.

"Thank you, Grandma. You're the best."

"I know," she replied smugly. "I'll send your passport to you; just tell me where to send it. And no, I'm not flying to America. I'm too old for that. You'd better come to me. Fly to me as Vanya, okay?"

"All right," Daniel agreed, biting his lip as his inflamed eyes stung. "I'll fly as Vanya when the danger has passed."

"I'll be praying for you," Baba Songolik said seriously. "Now, I need to get to bed. Good night, Daniel."

"Good night, Grandma," Daniel said, disconnecting the call and getting to his feet. His body buzzed with exhaustion, but his mind was crystal clear. He mentally tallied the lives he had disrupted - Alexander's and Sennoy's - and the one life he had restored - Baba Songolik's. He had done the right thing, so he wouldn't indulge in self-pity. Instead, he would focus on what truly mattered: rebuilding his mother's life and his own.

The score would be two to three, in favor of the positive.