The courier made his way through the empty streets of the night city, bypassing dark alleys and turns, holding an important suitcase in one hand and trying to stop the bleeding from his right side with the other palm. He barely survived after another skirmish with representatives of the mafia underworld, who relentlessly followed him on his heels, not giving him a break and calmly completing the task. He was also damn lucky that he escaped with only a couple of scratches on his face and a severe but not fatal stab wound. Still, he needed help urgently.

He knew he shouldn't have done that. He shouldn't have come to her. He shouldn't have dragged her into this again. And yet, right now, she was his only salvation, his only hope. The courier was leaning against the wall of an apartment building and ringing the door lock, hoping that someone would open it for him. His hand was still tightly gripping the handle of the briefcase, while the courier was trying to catch his breath and pinch the bleeding wound.

Please, please, please be at home. Open the door.

The courier prayed to himself, continuing to try to reach the landlady of the apartment. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, trying to breathe evenly and maintain a semblance of calm before meeting her face to face again.