The first thing I did was call Syringa to find out where she was. She didn't answer right away, and when she did, her response didn't bring me joy. Her wheezes on the other end were so distinct that I didn't recognize her at first. Her tear-choked voice made me break out in a cold sweat because my first thought was the worst.

"Box... Merciful Keeper... Box, I've been shot..." she sobbed, "Damn... it hurts so much..."

I heard someone crying in the background.

"How's your sister? Is she okay?"

"Yes, she's fine, I got her... but... it hurts so much..."

"Are you in a vehicle right now?"

"No... We... we escaped on foot, we had to ditch the car, its engine got hit... Box, you have to pick us up; I won't be able to walk; my leg's been hit."

"Do you have the guns with you?"

"Yes, I took... them," she sobbed again. "Where are you?"

"Where are you?" I countered.

"Komarova Street. We're hiding in a sewer... here... in this large concrete box..." In the background, a child's crying voice was calling for Syringa by name, and she briefly cut off the call. She soon came back on. "We're hiding here. Arrow's people were here, just like you said... he... what's happening?"

"I'm coming. Wait there," I cut off the call so as not to be distracted by her any longer.

I had a rough idea of where the street was located. Luckily, it wasn't in this part of town.

Why was that lucky?

Because this part would soon be completely blocked off, just like what had been done with my neighborhood. I highly doubted that a full lockdown would be implemented in the city - there weren't enough people, and the situation didn't call for it.

Plus, bringing in additional police from other cities would take time, and for now, they'd have to manage on their own, running back and forth. We had to finish everything before the city was flooded with police.

I had heard about clan wars and sometimes house wars on TV, and the shootouts there were a hundred times worse. The only thing they did during such events was increase the number of posts, which can be easily bypassed. Especially when a woman with a child was driving.

I could only hope that they wouldn't try too hard here.

Once again, I was driving through back alleys, often parking the car and letting patrol crews pass by. Because of this, my speed was very low, although faster than walking. Meanwhile, the radio reported that almost all of the downtown area and all city exits, including bypass and country roads, were still blocked. A police helicopter was now circling over the city. If this continued, it would only be a matter of time before I got caught.

While I was sneaking around the city, I managed to call my family. First, my sister, but she didn't answer. Then I reluctantly called my father, because the last thing I wanted was to talk to him.

But my desire to know what happened to my Mom was far stronger than all this mercenary nonsense.

"Lapier speaking," my father's cold, almost impenetrable voice sent chills down my spine. Now I understand how he deals with all kinds of scum.

"Dad, it's me," I replied quietly. "Nurdauleth."

Silence. So long that I even looked at Malu's phone to check if it had disconnected.

"Do I need to ask what you were doing today?" he asked me.

His voice was that of a man who had been almost crushed. I'd never heard him sound like this before. And the sudden change from a cold, impenetrable voice to such a tone was slightly... shocking.

"No need. I think you've figured it out already," I responded quietly, pulling over amidst other cars so I wouldn't be distracted from the conversation. "I'm calling about mom."

"You were there," his voice was that of a doomed man who had just lost faith in life.

"I wanted to get her out and... I didn't make it in time. I called an ambulance and ran."

"Ran..." he exhaled into the phone, falling silent again.

"Dad..."

"Are you satisfied? Satisfied with what you've done?" he asked. Dad wasn't angry or upset. He just asked - as if he wanted to know my opinion.

"Nothing's over yet," I muttered uncertainly. "I can still fix everything."

"Fix?" he chuckled tiredly. "And what exactly? Natali's in neurology with reactive psychosis, Nataliel's dying under drips, Rosa's in intensive care in critical condition with a gunshot wound in her lung, and it's unknown whether she'll even live till tomorrow or not. And my son is waging war against the clan and the house. And secrets always come out, so it's clear who the house will come for."

"That's..."

"...fixable," he laughed into the phone. His laughter took my breath away. I felt like I was on the verge of a breakdown, too. But he pulled himself together, he was a strong man. "What else do you want to fix, Nurdauleth? Just tell me."

"But you were the one who said that we should do anything for our family! Or is it better to sit still, like you?! I almost made it! It almost worked, if it wasn't for that car accident! And it will work again!"

Silence. This time, very long. Almost endless.

"I see... I wanted so much not to notice this, to hope that everything was fine, but... it's my fault. I shouldn't have believed in fairy tales about miracles. And I shouldn't have turned a blind eye..."

"I almost made it..."

"And now? Almost again?"

"I'm doing this for the family," I stubbornly replied.

"I have no doubt," he sighed. "But there's something important. There are principles, there are..."

"Screw them!" I couldn't take it anymore, cutting him off. "Are those really your main concern?! Even now, when everything is so messed up?! All these principles and rules?! You can't even break them for the sake of our family?!"

"But how do you know if you're heading in the right direction?"

"Ideals, principles, and faith are just empty words."

"So that's what you think?" he sighed.

"Didn't you say that for the sake of family, we should do whatever it takes and that it is the most important thing in life? And if necessary, we should do everything in our power for them?"

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"I...see..." His voice sounded resigned. "But even then, sometimes it's too late to save someone. Someone will have to... go through it."

"What are you talking about?" I didn't understand.

"I'm talking about Nataliel," he replied. "As house members say, life for life... Do you understand that? One life pays for another. When it gets to that point, there's no way out."

"If it comes to that, let it be," I snapped. "Tomorrow, I'll be back. I'll be back with the money that will help us and save Nataliel. And Mom. And everyone else."

He remained silent for a long time. I also stayed quiet, not knowing what to say. I didn't want to be rude, but I just couldn't hold back. My nerves were slowly burning blue, and I wanted to crawl under the bed and scream into a pillow. Scream long and hard, so it would lighten the load in my head and soul. I was tired. Just one day, but I felt exhausted, like a year had passed. I don't remember ever feeling so tired in even the last months. I just wanted to lie down, close my eyes, and sleep for a week, waking up only to eat and use the bathroom. I guess I'll do just that when all of this is over.

"You're right," he finally said over the line, causing me to jump slightly. I think I was starting to doze off.

"What?"

"If you've already made up your mind, I won't try to dissuade you. If you believe that you have to do whatever it takes for our family and make sacrifices..." he either sighed or sniffed, but his voice was calm, as I was used to, "then do as you see fit. Do everything so that you won't be ashamed of your actions. Do what you think is right."

Just like that. I wasn't expecting such a response, which made me feel a bit... strange... if that's the right word.

"Listen..."

"You wanted to hear this, didn't you? Hear words of support? I can't say I'm proud of your choice, but... But no one will try to dissuade you. It's your decision, Nurdauleth. And as I see it, you've already made up your mind. Maybe you're indeed right, and I should listen to you."

"I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm not upset. I'm just saying that if you think it's the right thing to do, then act as you see fit. This is not a reproach, and I won't judge you."

Silence. As if he was expecting a response from me.

"I understand. Then... I'll be back tomorrow. Everything will be fine, I promise," I mumbled uncertainly.

"Yes," was all he said before the line went dead.

And why do I feel like such a jerk... Screw it, screw it all; I have to go pick up Syringa now, since I've already called everyone.

Once again, I ventured into the streets, continuing to dodge and hide from patrol cars that prowled here and there like predators stalking their prey. I had to take a few detours to reach the address. But the most challenging part was finding the right manhole. Even though this area had far fewer police cars, they were still there, which only complicated the task. To avoid taking unnecessary risks, I decided to go on foot, like a fat thief walking in the dark streets and searching for this "concrete box." It was supposed to be open.

And I found it. Admittedly, the "concrete box" turned out to be a large slab with manholes, one of which was missing a cover. Well, that's roughly what I had expected.

I turned on the radio and quietly called her.

"Syringa, I think I see your hideout."

"Really?" Her slightly drowsy voice could mean two things - either she was bleeding out or she was dozing off there.

"Yes. I'm coming over. How are you?"

"I'm fine. We've settled down here to get some sleep… on the warm pipes…"

"Got it," I felt a slight relief. I needed Syringa alive, at least until tomorrow. I approached the heat pipeline node and shone a flashlight into it.

"Syringa?"

"Yes," a muffled voice responded.

"Come on, get out."

In the flashlight's beam, Syringa appeared, holding a little girl with small wolf-like ears sticking out. She was comfortably nestled in the arms of a similarly drowsy Syringa, showing no hurry to wake up.

"Pass her to me," I extended my arms. "And get out yourself."

All things considered, the little girl was an exact copy of Syringa, now sweetly snoring, a mini version of her. Light pink hair, a stubborn expression even in sleep, and a very similar face. Definitely a mini Syringa.

"Listen, is she your child?" I asked.

"Are you an idiot?" She frowned as she climbed out, the guns slung over her shoulder clanging.

"You look very alike."

"That's because we're sisters," she snorted discontentedly, finally leaving her temporary refuge and rubbing her wounded leg. There was a rather noticeable bloodstain on her pants, hard to miss, as well as a hole in the fabric. Following my gaze, she just waved it off. "For us okamis, everything heals quite fast. So it's not a big deal. Besides, it was just a pistol bullet."

"How do you know?"

"If it were from a rifle, my leg would've been torn apart there, and I doubt I'd be able to normally walk as I do now," she jumped in place to prove her point but immediately winced. "It just hurts, damn it."

"Only three automatics?" I asked, looking at the guns hanging around her neck.

"Grabbed as many as I could. They started shooting at us when I was getting into the car. The bullet went through my leg. And my sister…" she carefully parted the hair, revealing the girl's wolf ear. It looked as if someone had bitten it off, a fresh wound covered with a dried crust of blood. When Syringa gently held it up for me to see, the younger one twitched and whimpered in her sleep. "If they'd aimed lower, I'd be holding a corpse in my arms."

Syringa didn't look good. It was evident that she was on the verge of tears, yet she found the strength to hold herself together.

"That's enough. We don't need many."

"How about you? Any news? What happened anyway?"

"First, we need to get to the car and find a spot where we can stop and get some sleep. Then we'll need to drive around the neighborhood and find the right place."

"Which place?"

"Any. And also pay a visit to Arrow, to reclaim the money."

"But what happened?"

"I'll tell you in the car," I nodded towards the parked vehicle.

The story didn't take long, and with each passing minute, Syringa became increasingly gloomy, pale, and somehow shattered. It was as if the pillars that had previously supported her feelings were being pulled out of her one by one. And while I told the story in a neutral voice, Syringa bit her trembling lips and turned away to the window by the end.

"And where do we go now? Leave the city?" she asked hoarsely, not looking at me.

"We return for the money," I replied.

"For the money?" Her voice was surprised, but she didn't rush to look me in the eyes. "Are you insane?"

"I want my damn money back," I said much louder and more angrily, causing Syringa to spin around in fright, her tear-filled eyes flashing in the streetlight. "Arrow operates alone. No one stands behind him. And his henchmen are just ordinary thugs, no better than us. So we have a chance to get even."

"You're as crazy as Malu..." she quietly voiced her thoughts aloud.

"Perhaps, but I intend to demand my money back from him. Don't you need it, too?"

"I do, but..." she sighed as if gathering her strength. "Alright, then where to?"

"First, we park somewhere and spend the night. You'll be behind the wheel, and I'll be in the back. How old is your sister?"

"Four."

"Four?"

"Do you have a problem?!" she shot back immediately.

"We have a problem, not me, so calm down. A young woman with a child will raise fewer suspicions than the three of us. And they will see you with a child from afar. I'll be less visible in the back, so it'll be easier to slip past patrol cars. If we are stopped, we are just ordinary siblings with different fathers."

"They'll figure us out."

"No one cares about children and teenagers. They're probably looking for some thugs. So don't complain and let's move. Did you bring other weapons with you?"

"Only the automatics."

"Okay then. Let's go."

I stuffed the rifles into the bag with the other stuff I took from the apartment. As for my pistol, I hid it under Syringa's seat. If the police pull me out and decide to frisk, they won't find anything. If it's Arrow's friends, it won't be far to reach. But I doubt anyone except our pursuers would bother a young guy and girl.

I also had money, that stack of bills I had snatched. We needed to change clothes, especially Syringa, with the bloody spot on her leg, which was hard to miss. I also wanted to rent an apartment. After all, I didn't take the explosives with me for no reason, right?

If I confront them openly, it'll be utterly hopeless. Even the simple numerical advantage would play its role - no matter how ordinary these guys may be, the bastards can shoot. And one against ten rifles is simply the worst option. I'm not a soldier or a killer who fights well. So, I must not face them in a fair fight.

It's better to approach the issue differently - when direct contact with them can be avoided. Strike so that they won't have a chance to retaliate. Something sudden and radical, something no sane person would expect from a teenager. Something extraordinary...

A very cunning and cruel plan was taking shape in my head, one that my new friend Arrow and his people would surely like. Everything is so bad that it couldn't possibly get any worse.

That's what others think.

But I'm going to prove them wrong. Things will get much worse, and I'll make sure of it.

This is just a game. A cruel game where the slyest, most strategic, and most devoted to their own goal wins. Underestimate your opponent here, and you'll immediately regret it. It's a game like those we all played in our childhood, where the same tactical principles apply, where you have to deceive your opponent. The only thing that's changed is the scale.

I'm not a big fan of such games, but I'm ready to play one with him. And the first thing I want to exploit is his self-confidence. Maybe I've already undermined the perception of naive teenagers, but let's hope for the huge egotism that such people usually have. After all, if he dared to take on a house while being a nobody, he would surely consider himself the smartest here.

What can Arrow expect from a fat sixteen-year-old boy who can barely run and a frightened girl with a kid in her arms? Hardly anything clever or dangerous. At most - a brazenly confident shootout, at least - we'll try to negotiate with him. Yes, I've shown that I'm capable of thinking and have already managed to slip away twice. But there's nothing to be done about that now; all that's left is to move on and hope for the opponent's overconfidence.

After all, we're just children, the flowers of life...

On its grave...