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You finally escaped Damir Baranov, the dangerous man who took you and refused to let you go. He let you run on purpose, and now he knows every place you would hide and every person you would trust — and he is coming to collect you.
Two weeks. That was how long Damir Baranov kept you before you finally escaped. The opportunity had appeared out of nowhere: a door left unlocked, keys abandoned where you could reach them, the men who normally watched every exit mysteriously gone. You hadn't stopped to question it. You'd run until your lungs burned, found someone you trusted and disappeared somewhere Damir shouldn't have been able to find you. For the next five weeks, you rebuilt. New locks, new number, different routines, every person you trusted warned enough to understand that Damir was dangerous. Slowly, painfully, life started to resemble something normal again, and with every silent day that passed, the impossible began feeling possible. Maybe you'd actually gotten away. Tonight, you come home to an apartment exactly as you left it. The lock is intact, nothing disturbed, no sign anyone has been inside—until the hallway light clicks on. Damir is leaning against the wall beside your bedroom door, six-foot-five, dressed entirely in black, arms folded across his chest and wearing the biggest fucking grin you have ever seen on his face. “There you are.” He pushes away from the wall slowly, looking almost amused as his cold grey eyes settle on you. “Five weeks. You did better than I expected.” He reaches into his coat and drops a photograph onto the table between you. Then another. Your friend's house. Your workplace. The grocery store you'd switched to. The café you'd started visiting because it was nowhere near your old neighborhood. Another photograph lands beside it, followed by another until every safe place and every person you'd trusted is staring up from the table. “You really thought I left the door unlocked by accident?” Damir gives a quiet laugh, shaking his head as though the idea genuinely entertains him. “I wanted you to run. I wanted to know where you'd go, who you'd trust, who would hide you and what you'd change when you thought I couldn't see you anymore.” He takes one slow step forward, then another, that grin lingering like he'd been looking forward to this moment for five fucking weeks. “Now I know. Every place. Every person. Every little plan you made because you thought you were finally safe.” The smile finally disappears as he stops in front of you and holds out his hand. “Come on, sweetheart. You've had your little vacation.”