Traces of smoke

The sun hung low among the ruins of the old parts of the city.A slanting beam of light fell through the shattered glassabove the once-glowing entrance to the Golden Snake arcade.

Red entered first.The dust swirled beneath his footsteps,but something about this place felt... awake.Familiar and yet wrong.

Mafioso followed him silently,his hands in his coat pockets,his gaze cold, searching, alert.

Red walked ahead,occasionally pausing,as if listening to a silent echo.

Mafioso watched him.For too long.

"Red."

The former Chance turned slightly towards him,a question mark on his face.

"Since when... have you been seeing him?"

Red blinked.

"Who do you mean?"

Mafioso took a step closer.

"Yourself.Or rather:him.Chance."

Red said nothing at first.Then he laughed dryly –without joy.

"Since the first day I woke up."

Mafia stopped.

"And?What does he tell you?"

Red turned completely to him,the light from outside cutting shadows across his face.

"He... talks a lot.Is sarcastic, mocking.But sometimes... he shows me things.fragments.Memories."

"And you trust that?"

Red shrugged.

"He is me.Or I was.Or maybe he's just the partthat wasn't ready to die."

Mafia said slowly.

"I used to see voicesin the faces of people I've lost.But they were never helpful."

Red looked at him for a long time.

"Maybe you're just not the type to accept help."

Mafioso didn't ask for an eyelid.

"And you're the type to lie to yourself."

A moment of tension.

Then Red moved on.Past old machines,whose lights would never blink again.

And there—a flash.Short.Bright.

Chance appeared right next to him.

"This is where we played.Years ago."Do you remember the bet?"

Red looked at the corner of the room,where a broken poker table stood.

"A song.And a lie."

Mafioso stepped next to him.

"What did you see?"

Red didn't answer immediately.

"A moment before everything fell apart."

Red had barely said the words,Then you heard heavy footsteps from outside.Not many – three? Four?Voices, muffled, too far away to make out clearly.But too close to ignore.

Mafia was immediately at the door,peering through a crack in the wood.

"The ones who followed you last night."

Red cursed quietly,shoved the diary under his jacket,and backed into the next room.

"What are they doing here?"

"Maybe the same question we are.Or the same loot."

An old storage room, dark and cramped.Dust hung like a veil in the air.They huddled in the corner between stacked vending machine crates,empty Coke cans,and a broken pool table.

Mafia was right next to Red.

They held their breathas the voices drew closer –one laughed croakily,another kicked one of the slot machines.

"He was here yesterday, for sure.The guy with the silver hair."

Red felt his heart racing.Mafioso's breathing was shallow, controlled –but his shoulder was now touching his.

It was tight.Really tight.

A whisper.

"If they enter the room...?"

"We'll pull them in.Quietly.And quickly."

Red nodded barely visibly.

The footsteps came closer –but then... they moved away.

"Nothing here.Maybe it was just a rumor.Come.The place is as dead as its reputation."

Long seconds.

Then:Silence.

Only the faint hum of the wind through the broken windows.

Red finally took a deep breath.

His head involuntarily leaned against Mafioso's shoulder for a moment.He didn't flinch.

"You still smell of old whiskey and cigarettes,"Red murmured, half relieved, half exhausted.

"And you're after trouble, memories... and cheap hair dye."

A tiny smile flickered across Red's lips.

Then he raised his head,looking directly at Mafioso.

They were too closeto hide.

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"For not asking if I was scared."

Mafioso looked at him for a moment,then looked away.

"Because I knew."

---

To be continued...