She was there one moment, her icy fingers making contact with me, and then... where she had been, there was now just a barely discernible smoky haze in the shape of a human silhouette. This haze was perceptible only to raigs. Ordinary people wouldn't even see it.
Damn!!!
The doctor said her name was Maya!
And I do know her. Not personally, but from information circulating online.
Maya Grim, one of the three open Break Knights of Novilter, who doesn't hide her identity, the co-chair of BKDW, and perhaps one of the first dozen raigs to appear in the world.
And she just attempted to pull me into the Break!
Silently, the girl materializes again in the physical world.
"It didn't work," she announced, addressing the woman in the short dress. "I'll try again."
Once more, her touch instills in me a tangible sensation of transitioning into the Break.
She's so fast! And so audacious! Should she be allowed to yank a person into the Break without their consent or even an explanation of what's about to happen? Initially, I feign submission to her efforts, and then I abort the transition. Like the previous time, the girl vanishes alone, and I continue to lie on the bed, pulling the most surprised and puzzled face I can manage.
"Nothing..." On returning to the physical realm, Maya states. "It doesn't always work and demands nearly a day's worth of energy reserves. I'm sorry, Diana, but this guy is very attached to the real world, and I can't heal him with the Break."
"You tried, that's enough. Thank you," responds the young woman, whose handbag is the reason I'm on this bed.
I'm not thrilled with how things are progressing. Not only have I ended up in the hospital, but I've also drawn the attention of the raig organization! I urgently need to act... And I believe I know what to do!
"Are you Maya Grim?" My voice shakes a bit, but I manage to maintain a look of enthusiastic surprise.
"Yes," she responds tersely.
"Could I have your autograph?!!"
At this simple request, the girl recoils from me as if I were a venomous viper. It appears my guess was right: she's been weary of the attention she draws for quite some time.
"Perhaps next time," the doctor interjects immediately, noticing the awkwardness of the situation, and nudges Maya away from me with his shoulder. "And now, ladies, after ensuring that the young man is awake and his life is not in danger, I would ask you to leave the room." He then turns to me and adds, "And for you, young man, it would be best to avoid intense emotions."
"Will it be possible to visit him again?" Diana asks. "I didn't get a chance to thank him."
"Later," the doctor dismisses nonchalantly. "In two days. For now, I must insist..." He gestures towards the ward door.
Both visitors exit immediately. If Diana does so reluctantly, Maya, in contrast, almost runs, with an expression of distinct relief on her face.
"Well..." As soon as the door closes, the doctor takes a seat on the edge of the bed. "I need to examine you, is that okay?"
"Sure," I reply. I'd prefer to decline, but that would seem highly suspicious, so I agree. "I definitely don't have anything serious. Otherwise, I'd have been unconscious for several hours!"
"Certainly, you would have woken up much sooner, but our Seer put you into a healing sleep."
"Did I get involved in something serious?" This question nags me.
"Why do you ask that?" The doctor inquires, simultaneously checking my pulse.
"Well, isn't it obvious? Maya Grim! A Break Knight! Who is she, and who am I?"
"Hm-m-m..." The doctor takes a moment before responding. "Your pulse is a bit elevated but within normal limits. Don't worry. Your act, albeit foolish, has been paid for with your injuries and concussion. As for Maya Grim, she's here because of Miss Horn..." The doctor pauses in thought. "Well, there's no secret there. Miss Horn represents the Vienna City Hall. They're interested in setting up an organization similar to our BKDW, and she came to learn from our experiences. And lo and behold, on her very first day, someone attempts to rob her! Maya was here at her request and as the one who apprehended the unfortunate thief. In essence, it's just a coincidence, and you're likely to experience many more such coincidences in your life. Don't worry about it."
"Is this a high-end clinic?"
"Ha!" The doctor chuckles at my question. "Don't concern yourself with it. BKDW will fully cover your treatment."
"I would like to leave the hospital as soon as possible," I attempt to negotiate.
"In a week," the doctor answers calmly.
"I would prefer to leave now," I insist.
"Don't even think about it. With your concussion, you'll need at least a week!"
If it were possible to lie, I'd find a way out, but "Word" is in the way!
What if... Yes, this way there won't be any lies.
I won't reveal everything, but there will be no untruths in my words.
"Still, I would prefer to leave the hospital immediately. I appreciate what you've done for me, but I believe your continued treatment won't be as effective as I'd like."
"Explain yourself," my statement seems to wound his professional pride.
"My mother knows a Maker, and I'd like to get home as soon as possible."
Now everything hinges on whether the doctor correctly infers what's left unsaid. Melanie really is acquainted with a sensum of this rank, and he was the one who invited her to work at the Louvre. That is, technically, I'm not lying, which "Word" confirms by not reacting.
"That's how it is..." The doctor immediately eases up. "Yes, in that case, I concur that even the most advanced equipment and cutting-edge medicines can't compete with a Maker." He promptly halts the examination and rises from my bed. "Whose name should I use to call a taxi?"
"Izao." Overdoing the secrecy in such a situation would seem absurd.
"Izao?"
"Izao Vaillant." Damn this doctor and his persistence!
"Alright, young man, I'll call you a taxi and have the nurse escort you to it."
"Is it that simple? What about all the paperwork?"
"We're a private clinic under contract with BKDW. We're accustomed to our patients being rather paranoid types who loathe paperwork. So yes, it's that simple. And don't worry. We guarantee our clients' complete confidentiality..."
The doctor wasn't lying. In less than half an hour, a burly nurse practically hauled me over his shoulder and gently, as if handling porcelain, deposited me in a taxi.
In the car, I felt substantially worse. I barely managed to keep from vomiting and even found time to regret my hasty departure from the hospital. Thankfully, my home wasn't far away, and the driver proved to be a true professional. He navigated through the evening traffic by taking shortcuts through residential areas, making the entire journey last no more than fifteen minutes. Since the hospital was covering the taxi fare, I issued a bland 'thank you' and quickly disembarked from the vehicle as my nausea was escalating.
Fortunately, one of the elevators was on the ground floor, and nobody else was waiting to use it. As soon as the elevator doors closed, I immediately shifted into the Break. There were no security cameras in my building's elevators, something I'd confirmed a while back, so I wasn't concerned about someone noticing my sudden disappearance.
The world instantly changed, losing its vibrancy and saturation, which is why I refer to the Break as the world of shadows. Entering the projection state brought immediate relief. The nausea vanished, as did the bruises and associated pain.
Upon reaching the tenth floor, I exited the projection state, returning to the physical world, and I couldn't help but exhale in relief. Finally, the headache was gone, and all the wounds, bruises, and scratches seemed to have evaporated. The only reminder of the day's turmoil was my clothes: a T-shirt torn in several places and dirty shorts with a large rip on the thigh.
Entering the apartment, I swiftly undressed and, after some contemplation, tossed my T-shirt and shorts into the garbage. I didn't care for them before, but now I had the perfect excuse to be rid of them. I contemplated making tea, but as I approached the kitchen, an overpowering wave of hunger struck. I quickly turned on the stove, cracked five eggs, and crumbled half a packet of sausages into the pan, sneaking a few bites raw. It wasn't until everything was cooked, and I'd devoured the rather modest dish within a minute, that my capacity for rational thought returned.
As was my routine, I settled on the windowsill with a cup of hot tea and began to recall in detail the day's events. The act of forced heroism itself didn't particularly intrigue me. The roots of what happened were pretty understandable and clear, but what unfolded next...
A perfectly logical and consistent narrative formed from everything I heard at the hospital. Miss Horn arrives in the city to study the workings of BKDW, the world's only open 'raig' organization, which also enjoys the local authorities' protection. Could this happen? Indeed, yes. It's better to incentivize and organize the Break Knights rather than leave them uncontrolled. Overall, the idea seemed sound. It killed several birds with one stone.
Firstly, by receiving a decent income just for existing and going through minimal registration that doesn't necessitate revealing their real identities, raigs no longer need to worry about their financial situation. This point alone eliminates the motivation for raigs to resort to illegal activities due to poverty. Secondly, the citizens of the metropolis feel much safer knowing that they are protected from terrifying Breakthroughs by a state-funded organization and not merely anonymous "volunteers." Thirdly, the image boost that the authorities gain from the second point. Fourthly, even the bare minimum registration with the inclusion of a raig's projection appearance in a public catalog functions as a psychological deterrent for the Knights. Lastly, raigs provide help to the city, beyond protecting against Breakthroughs, primarily assisting the police. A Knight's surveillance is nearly impossible to detect... I'm sure there are even more points, but these suffice. Moreover, BKDW has existed for almost four months. Therefore, it has proven its worth, and the interest of other cities and countries in such a project seems entirely reasonable to me.
Was Miss Horn's attempted robbery an accident? Was it merely a random assault on a tourist to snatch her purse, or was the thief purposely there at that time and place? Upon reflection, I concluded that the likelihood of Diana being the specific target was probably just a coincidence. Otherwise, they wouldn't have released me from the hospital so quickly, and apart from the doctor, an investigator would have been brought in for questioning. The doctor also mentioned that the criminal was apprehended. Considering that stealing a handbag isn't always a successful venture, even for seasoned robbers, it's foolish for anyone to count on such a robbery. The situation seems too precarious for a planned act. If we invoke Occam's razor, then we shouldn't overcomplicate matters without necessity in this case.
The following question is, how did I end up in that particular hospital? BKDW, fundamentally, is another power structure serving the state, just like the police, the NBI (Novilter's bureau of investigations), or the guard. Could such an organization have its own "departmental" hospital? Why not, especially if it isn't wholly owned, but is being used under a contractual agreement? If we consider that a Knight apprehended the thief, meaning a representative of BKDW was the first at the crime scene, and the attack targeted an organization's guest... It turns out that my being taken to that specific hospital fits the situation's logic, given it's also conveniently located near the unfortunate street where everything transpired.
Thus, there seems to be no cause for paranoia. Is it odd that Miss Horn wanted to visit the young man who so gallantly stood up to her robber? I'm certain that's how it appeared externally. And concerning the raig escort accompanying Diana on her visit, there's nothing unusual about it. Someone recently attempted to rob the woman, so such an escort seems quite understandable.
The question remains, did I reveal myself when I resisted Maya and prevented her from pulling me into the Break? To my knowledge, some raigs at the third level possess this ability, although it's not advised to use it on people without their consent. Instances have occurred where, after an involuntary stay in the Break, people slipped into prolonged depression and lost their sense of taste and smell. Over time, these adverse effects subsided. However, it was at the very least impolite of Maya to attempt to drag someone with a concussion into the shadow world without warning of potential complications. Ideally, the doctor should have prohibited such action, but it seems his curiosity got the better of him, and he did not deter the raig girl. In general, this ability is inconsistent. It may or may not work and doesn't affect everyone. Therefore, I am safe on this front as well.
Moving on to the next point: Should I have left the hospital so early? If I were to indulge in total paranoia, I'd have stayed put for the prescribed week and not left at all. But this is under the condition of total paranoia. Nevertheless, a concussion is a tricky ailment that could potentially bring about complications that emerge much later, so I believe my decision was justified. The method in which I wriggled out of medical care is a separate issue. Yes, there was no direct lie in my words, but claiming an acquaintance with a Maker was a somewhat precarious stance.
Sensums, or people with psychic abilities, are not exactly a rarity. About one in fifty thousand people manifest these abilities. However, the majority of sensums don't advance beyond the first two ranks: Feeler and Contemplator. The limit of their capabilities is relatively minor: guessing a card, sensing someone's mood through touch, or curing minor ailments like colds or pimples. This is within their reach, but anything more is almost unattainable to them, barring infrequent insights. The third-rank sensums, known as Seers, are considerably scarcer. They are a genuine rarity. In all of Wilflaes, the capital of one of the largest states, there are no more than two dozen of them! They can diagnose and predict illnesses, and heal with a touch of their hands. Of course, not all diseases succumb to their abilities, but many do. The capabilities of the Seers are quite vast and not limited only to healing: locating items and people, and making intuitive yet accurate prognoses are only a small part of what they can do.
Above the Seers in rank are the Makers — local miracle workers. The sensums of this rank dedicate themselves to Service: the church, art, and people. It's thought that they don't control their gift, but rather, the gift guides them through life. Such individuals are extremely rare. In all of Novilter, there are only four. Makers serve only their chosen path, they cannot be bought or hired, and even the most powerful clans don't dare cross them. I'm not entirely sure that even in the Break, I would feel safe near them. It's not surprising that a Maker would help the child of an acquaintance, as the circle of trust and communication among individuals endowed with such power is exceedingly small.
That being the case, it seems I'm safe from this angle as well. My half-truth could quickly unravel if anyone were to dig in this direction. On the other hand, in order to disprove my lie, they would have to pry into the private lives of the Makers, conduct inquiries, and search... If it were about thwarting a terrorist attack, such an investigation might have been sanctioned. But to disrupt rank four sensums for something as trivial as my personal situation, no one would permit it.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
Having finished my tea, I set the mug down on the windowsill and gazed out at the street, blooming with the vibrant evening lights of advertisements. According to the initial analysis, I had nothing to worry about. Perhaps, though, I should have let Maya drag me into the Break? She would have been astonished to see me not as a petite, frightened teenager, but as a sturdy, gray-haired, forty-year-old man with a hint of anger. That would have painted a humorous picture, indeed! But it certainly wasn't worth revealing my true identity as a raig. As I began to dwell on this thought, an involuntary smile surfaced on my face.
However, this wave of good humor was short-lived. Sure, one could argue that I had managed to escape unscathed and the day had ended without any irreparable consequences, but this doesn't negate the fact that such an event had occurred.
Lifting my left palm to my face, I scrutinized it as if it belonged to someone else.
"Purity, this is your error! Such a grave mistake! Your antics could have led to my death."
In the initial days, I had tried to mentally reach out to the blades, first one, then the other, in an attempt to establish some form of communication and soften their restrictions. But, alas, all my efforts to engage with them invariably ended the same way — they didn't hear me. Thus, these words were essentially aimed at a void, spoken in vain. I was genuinely infuriated with that accursed inherited sword, so I vented my frustration. My astonishment was profound when, in response to my outburst, a wave of genuine regret washed over my left palm. I almost toppled from the windowsill when I realized that it was a response from "Purity"!
What a revelation! It was truly astonishing. I had almost given up hope, assuming that any conversation with the blades was impossible, and then this sudden twist occurred!
"Can we make an agreement?" I asked, looking at my hand. "If I were to die senselessly, what good would that do for you?"
No response. Damn... Was it all in my imagination? Certainly not. So it appears that the sword harbors guilt, but simultaneously doesn't wish to — or can't — change anything? Regardless, it would be imprudent to let such an opportunity slip away. I need to at least negotiate something.
"If this happens again, I will find a way to shatter you. It won't kill me since my blade is 'Word' and not you. The only thing I'll lose are the bonuses from Izao's Shard... But, you know what... Those bonuses mean nothing if a sword like you comes with them. All these perks and extra energy would be utterly useless to a dead man!"
A ripple of indifference coursed through my palm. "Purity" was indestructible and seemed well aware of that fact. I doubted the spirit sword feared nonexistence, as it wasn't a person, which meant I must have been pressing the wrong buttons. However, it was equally evident, no matter how strange it sounded, that the wakizashi felt guilt! Therefore, I needed to extract something from this situation...
"Purity" was the sword of an extremist, a lover of heroic cartoons, and it was also created from a piece of a schoolboy's soul.
"An eye for an eye?"
I could feel the icy inquiry in response, a request for me to clarify my words.
"Since you can't soften your principles, I propose a pact: for every intervention that puts me in danger, you overlook one of my transgressions. This isn't leniency, but rather the principle of mutual coexistence." I realized that I had worded the sentence rather ambiguously, but "Purity" was connected with my spirit and perfectly understood the unsaid.
A fiery sensation in my palm answered me. I wouldn't be allowed to kill, rob, or steal from anyone - this wasn't up for debate.
"I don't intend to kill or rob anyone, but what's wrong with confiscating illicitly gained funds from criminals?" Izao loved cartoons about people's avengers. Perhaps this argument would be effective?
At first, it seemed as though "Purity" had ended the conversation since there was no response for more than a minute. But just when I had almost given up hope, a chill traced a figure across my hand - the number one.
"Did I understand you correctly?" I asked. "Purity" will forgive me one attempt to steal from criminal elements in response to its near-lethal intervention?
My question remained unanswered, as did the next one, and a dozen more after that. After about five minutes, I accepted that it wouldn't respond any further.
I believed I had interpreted the sword correctly.
Springing off the windowsill, I stretched with immense satisfaction. It had been an unexpectedly eventful day, which had started off poorly, yet now had every chance of ending on a high note! I had no intention of delaying the verification of whether it was permission or not.
For some time, I had been considering a certain illegal bookmaker's office. Not only were they unlawfully accepting bets, but they were also notorious for their ruthless debt collection practices. Threats to families, gouged-out eyes, severed fingers, not to mention the typical fractures and beatings, were all on their conscience. Despite such a vile operation, they allowed credit betting and didn't impose the draconian state taxes on winnings. Consequently, their business was thriving in a residential area of the city, just a few blocks from my house.
Glancing at the wall clock, I gathered the pieces of motorcycle gear strewn about the floor and started to dress. It was already evening, and the bookmakers were busy at work; they wouldn't be closing up and counting their money anytime soon. However, this played to my advantage. It would give me the chance to observe and figure out how and where they stored their earnings.
Before donning my helmet, I closed my eye and reached out to my spirit, checking the available energy reserves. Raigs can't remain in the Break indefinitely, and the stored energy constrains their time. Because of the Shard, I had more of an advantage in this regard than most Knights. I had one and a half times more energy than other raigs at the same level, and I also restored it proportionally faster. Due to this feature, my energy was currently at its maximum. That meant I had enough "charge" for three hours of uninterrupted stay in the Break. This would be enough time to conduct thorough reconnaissance, return, rest, and revisit the bookmakers just before they shut.
Fully geared up, I found myself entertaining a paranoid thought: what if Maya was tracking me? The mere speculation sent a cold shiver down my spine. If I were in her shoes, I would undoubtedly pay the strange boy from the hospital a visit. I would "visit" him in the Break just to ensure he had indeed arrived at the crime scene accidentally. The trouble was that even for me, spotting a raig in the Break was challenging. I perceived a Knight in projection state as a blurry transparent haze, much like the Predator's camouflage in the famous movie. One could easily overlook it, even when looking directly at the anomaly.
Damn! If she were observing me, I'd already made a mistake: I'd talked to an empty hand and now was dressing in motorcycle gear... There was more than enough evidence to suggest that Izao was at least peculiar and hiding something.
Feigning a neck stretch, I scanned my studio apartment. At first glance, everything appeared normal. I couldn't spot anything out of the ordinary. But if a raig doesn't move, their haze is incredibly hard to detect.
Was she here or not? The only sure way to find out would be to slip into the Break. Should I take the risk or not? On the other hand, standing in the middle of an apartment dressed in motorcycle gear would only reinforce an observer's suspicion that "something is very off with this guy."
Hmm... No one's tailing me! This raig girl isn't like me. I need to remember her worn-out face. I'm sure she's got so much on her plate that she barely has time to sleep, let alone monitor every new casual acquaintance. Being a public Knight and a pretty girl, I can't even begin to imagine her list of responsibilities. Moreover, she doesn't just have a substantial fan base, but I wouldn't be wrong to say millions worldwide. For her, every minute spent alone is likely a luxury!
With that thought in mind, I slipped into the shadowy world, instantly leaping up to the ceiling and unsheathing my swords. Phew... There's nobody here. This paranoia will drive me to a breakdown someday! I need to learn to live a bit more carefree and not perceive every rustle, shadow, or word as a threat.
That seems to be the right way to think - not to be so easily frightened, but still, I err on the side of caution. I slink down to the basement and into the sewer, and only after covering a couple of blocks underground do I emerge into the open air. It would have been quicker to reach my destination above ground, leaping from one roof to another, but again, to avoid drawing attention, because other Knights could spot a raig jumping like that from a distance, I choose a route that conceals my silhouette as much as possible. That is, running along the sidewalk, sticking close to the trees, under the shade of their branches.
I reached a bar, the official facade of the bookmaker's office, in roughly five minutes. Then, I spent a quarter of an hour studying the immediate surroundings. I discovered that two goons were seated in the apartment above, mainly playing cards and watching all sorts of rubbish on TV. But the two shotguns resting against the sofa and monitors displaying the situation in the bar were clear indications of their actual roles here. They were undercover security and might pose a problem to my plan since one of the security cameras was installed in the basement, presumably where the money was kept. Also, parked on the opposite side of the street was a minivan with completely tinted windows. Its driver, a hefty man with a broken nose and fists of a fighter, was intermittently caressing the handle of a massive bat, ready to start the vehicle at a moment's notice. Interestingly, his bat wasn't a baseball one, as such a game didn't exist in this world, but was derived from rounders. A blow from it wouldn't leave anyone with minor injuries. However, I could disregard him. He wouldn't be able to interfere with me.
Three "official" guards were positioned in the room at a corner table in the shadows. Oh, and there was a large-caliber sawn-off shotgun concealed under the bar. In addition, the bartender, clad in a leather vest over his bare torso, displayed a jackal's emblem with two etched teeth on his shoulder. Impressive, the man was over thirty, yet he only had the second level of control. Now it made sense why he was here, working such a menial job. Anything more critical couldn't be entrusted to him. He was the cast-off of a clan, relegated to routine human work. Most likely, his clan employed him as a cautionary figure for the youth: "if you don't master control, you'll end up just like your uncle," or whoever he might be to the clan's younger members.
Since I had little interest in the acceptance and processing of bets, I directed my attention to the basement after scanning the hall several times and finding nothing else of note.
The moment I traversed the closed metal door, I instinctively recoiled. Next to the counter, alongside a bald older man donning a distinctive cap and thick glasses, sat a young man around twenty. A youth radiating a golden aura! A sensum! What on earth was a psychic doing here?! Yes, it's evident that many sensums, particularly of lower ranks, work for clans, even criminal ones. But it seemed overly excessive to employ a sensum as security in a small betting office.
I cautiously peeked out from behind the wall, observing the sensum. He showed no reaction, continuing to sit as before, flipping a coin in the air and consistently catching it tails up. A raig in the Break could only be detected by a Seer with a specific talent or a Maker. This one was likely a first-ranker - a Feeler. He only posed a danger to me if I accidentally touched him, and even then, it would be hazardous because he could sound an alarm. He might have a hunch or sense something akin to a premonition, but there was nothing I could do about that.
The situation was odd. If all this security, including the clan-affiliated bartender, somehow fit within the logic of typical illegal business, then the presence of a sensum was an anomaly. The gifted were too precious a resource, especially those with flexible moral compasses, to squander one here needlessly.
After observing for over an hour, I managed to gather more details. The young man was a clan member - not a shapeshifter, merely born into a clan. While he didn't inherit shapeshifter genes, he did acquire some, albeit weak, psychic abilities. Moreover, this basement was merely a part of a vast underground network that interconnected the illegal outposts of the jackal clan. They were more like moles than jackals, burrowing passages under the entire block, connecting their brothels, another betting office similar to this one, and several other locations. Concurrently, all these passages were packed with surveillance systems, and I also spotted at least five traps armed with a modest amount of explosives, which would collapse the tunnels if triggered.
In the heart of this underground network, I discovered the most fascinating thing. A tiny room, merely four square meters in size, contained a metal table with an antiquated lamp and a large ledger filled with cryptic entries. Accompanying the table was only a worn-out stool and a hefty steel safe tucked away in the corner. A safe that didn't open with a key but with a digital combination! Upon sighting it, I almost let out a yell of elation. It seemed I had hit the jackpot! Furthermore, this room lacked any video cameras or other surveillance systems. Perfect!!!
In the ensuing hour and a half, I discovered that all the daily earnings of the jackal clan converged in this minuscule room late at night. A vast amount of unregistered, unaccounted-for cash! Having gleaned these details, I retreated to my apartment. I needed to replenish my energy reserves and grab a large backpack!
By a quarter to three in the morning, I was fully primed to execute my plan.
Stealthily, I slipped into the irresistible room and began to wait. Then, right on cue at three, the old cashier, already familiar to me, entered the room carrying four trunks reminiscent of cash carrier bags. He spent several minutes scribbling in the ledger, then unzipped the bags, opened the safe, and started transferring the money. Standing behind him, I almost dropped my jaw to the floor. There were neatly stacked bundles totaling at least ten million francs on the safe shelves! I wouldn't be able to carry all this money at once, even in two trips! I'd need to make three or even four trips to cart away everything!
Finally, the old man finished stowing the money and secured the safe by inputting a twelve-digit code that I mentally echoed until the lock on the door clicked shut. After making sure the cashier had left the area and the tunnels were devoid of anyone, I transitioned into the room and exited the Break. Then, taking a deep breath, I dialed the combination and tugged the handle.
Hooray!!!
The safe swung open.
Without wasting a second, I filled my backpack with bundles of five hundred franc notes. It must have held at least three million, give or take! Yes, with this money, I could comfortably coast through life! Lady Luck had indeed favored me on this visit!
Having secured the backpack and, as a precaution, locked the safe again, I stifled a triumphant whoop and slipped back into the Break.
But wait!
What?!
How?!
Why?!
What on earth?!
The money that I had meticulously packed didn't transition with me; it tumbled to the room floor, remaining in the physical world. I re-emerged and opened my backpack - it was pristine-empty.