The thick wooden entrance door, untouched for what feels like an eternity, bears the weight of years in its silence. The old, dust-laden windows, long since darkened by the grime of the city, seem to guard the secrets of a past now lost.

  Beyond the house stretches a vast garden, a once-proud orchard now surrendered to wild overgrowth. Rows of fruit trees stand like weary sentinels, their tangled branches groaning under the weight of ripened fruit, yet no hands reach to harvest them. Overripe pears and apples fall in resignation to the earth below, releasing a heady, fermented aroma scent that lingers in the warm summer air-a quiet testament to nature’s relentless cycle, even in abandonment.

  A hesitant push against the balcony door sends a shudder through its loosened panes, the glass rattling in protest. The wooden floor beneath creaks-a warped and swollen relic of forgotten years. Against the balcony wall, two chairs lie discarded, their fabric seats frayed and forgotten, while a small wooden table stands beside the only two that remain upright. Inside, the house itself is a hollow shell. Stripped of life, its rooms are empty, save for a few relics of worn furniture, whispering of the days when voices once filled the space.

  The girl’s eyes flutter open, and immediately, fear tightens in her chest. A stranger is seated beside her.

  The young man is broad-shouldered, his muscular frame slumped slightly against the couch. Shadows flicker across his face, and in the dim light, she sees the bruising-a dark, swollen mass staining his right side, mottled with dried blood. His back and shoulders bear fresh scratches, stark against his skin.

  Her hands tremble. She grips the covers, pulling them closer. The boy stirs, sensing her unease, and shifts to his feet with careful, deliberate movements.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he says, his voice low yet steady. “You’re safe here.”

  She doesn't reply. Her silence stretches between them, unbroken.

  The young man hesitates before continuing. “I’m Davit. The city is under flood-we barely survived.”

  Davit searches for more words but finds none. The weight of the moment holds him still.

  A few seconds pass before the girl speaks, her voice cautious, edged with unease.

  “Where are my clothes?”

  A faint flush creeps up Davit’s face. He gestures toward the neatly folded garments at her side.

  “They were soaked,” he explains. “I-had no choice. I dried them for you.” He swallows, unable to explain how the clothes had dried so unnaturally fast.

  The girl’s gaze flickers from the clothes to him, her expression unreadable. “Could you step out so I can change?”

  Without hesitation, Davit turns and leaves the room, shutting the door behind him.

  Out on the balcony, he exhales. The events of the night coil tightly around his mind. He pulls out the lighter he had found earlier-sleek, new, untouched by time. A jarring contrast to the house, which had clearly been abandoned for years. His eyes shift downward, and something else catches his attention: the overgrown grass at the foot of the balcony stairs.

  It had been disturbed. Trampled.

  The flattened blades were fresh, unmistakable. Someone-or something-had passed through recently.

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  A movement behind him draws his attention. The girl steps onto the balcony. Water flowing relentlessly around the house, an unyielding force of nature. But here they stood, untouched.

  “How?” Sophia’s voice trembles slightly as she watches the surreal current above them.

  “I don’t understand it myself,” Davit admits, his brow furrowing. “But something is very wrong. Last night, when I tried to put my hand into the water, it repelled me with such force that I was thrown back into the house.”

  Sophia remains silent, her gaze locked onto the torrent. The undulating water above them feels like something out of a fever dream, an impossible sight defying all logic. Minutes pass, yet her mind refuses to grasp reality.

  Davit watches her, then finally breaks the silence. “What’s your name?”

  “Sophia,” she says softly. After a pause, she adds, “How did we end up here?”

  Davit recounts everything-his voice steady, yet edged with unease. He describes the chaos, the moment of impact, and their inexplicable survival within this forgotten house. Sophia listens intently, absorbing every word, but her silence is thick with disbelief.

  Finally, she murmurs, “My mind refuses to accept this… It all feels like a dream.”

  Davit exhales, his jaw tightening. “This house is our salvation, for now. But I don’t know how long it will last. There’s no way out. We need to find a solution.”

  They settle into the creaking wooden chairs on the balcony. The night is eerily quiet, the only sound the relentless rush of the unnatural flood overhead. Sophia’s eyes remain fixed on the surging water, unable to look away.

  Davit studies her for a moment before asking, “Do you live in Thalas?”

  “I’ve been working here for a month. And you?”

  “I only just returned today. I hadn’t been in Thalas for a long time, but… nothing much has changed.”

  Sophia turns to him, her expression incredulous. “Nothing’s changed? Gerard White has been murdered.”

  A faint smile tugs at the corner of Davit’s lips. “That changes nothing. His son, Benjamin, is more than capable of continuing his father’s work.”

  Sophia frowns. “I don’t even know who Benjamin is.”

  Davit rises, stepping toward the balcony railing. He looks out over the tangled, overgrown garden before speaking again. “Gerard’s only son,” he says, his voice carrying a quiet venom. “A ruthless monster.”

  “You seem to know a lot about the Whites. Maybe you’re even the killer-a mysterious soldier appears in Thalas, and that very night, Gerard White is assassinated.”

  Davit turns, meeting her gaze with an amused smirk. “Do I look like a murderer?”

  Sophia crosses her arms. “A battle-hardened soldier? You certainly do.”

  Davit chuckles. “And yet, the real stranger here is the woman who’s been in Thalas for a month. The one who happened to be here on the exact day Gerard White was killed. Sounds like quite the convenient opportunity.”

  Sophia tilts her head. “And do I look like a murderer?”

  Davit’s expression hardens, his response immediate. “No.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “And what exactly do murderers look like?”

  Davit exhales sharply. “I’ve seen real killers. You’re not one of them.”

  Sophia steps closer to the railing, gazing out into the abyss of rushing water. “And do those killers come with horns and tails?”

  Davit smirks. “No. But I also don’t consider Gerard White human. As cynical as it sounds, I have no personal vendetta against the Whites. But the people I do need to settle scores with are all under their direct protection.”

  Sophia turns to him, emotions flickering in her eyes-rage, sorrow, something deeper. “And I would like to settle scores with the Whites. I just don’t have the power to do it.”

  Davit watches her, noticing the barely restrained emotion in her voice. Her fists tighten at her sides. He softens his tone, attempting to lighten the mood.

  “Well, before we plot our grand vengeance, we need food and water,” he says with a small grin. “Are you hungry? Allow me to invite you to breakfast.”

  “And if I accept, what exactly is on the menu?”

  Davit gestures toward the wild garden below. “I noticed some apple trees.”

  Sophia exhales,“Well, it’s not much, but I suppose that’ll do.”

  Without another word, the two descend into the overgrown garden, stepping into the unknown.