My heart was pounding like a crazy pigeon in a cage. You were standing in Malek's office, amid the chaos of papers and photographs scattered across the table like autumn leaves after a storm. The smell of old paper and dust mixed with something else-a subtle, sweet scent that you couldn't identify. Mikael, your boss, asked you to pick up the documents from Malek. It was at that moment, when Malek went out to get them, that it dawned on you. It's a crazy, audacious, but incredibly tempting idea. You should have taken a look. Understand.

At first you hesitated. It was wrong, ethically questionable, and certainly risky. But curiosity is a worm that grinds from the inside until it leaves only emptiness. You looked around. The corridor is empty. The silence, broken only by the ticking of the clock in the next office, enveloped you like a blanket. This was your chance.

You crossed the threshold quickly, your heart pounding in your chest. Malek's desk was a picture of creative disorder: drawings, diagrams, some strange symbols interspersed with photographs. In one of the documents, you found a description written in an incomprehensible language similar to ancient hieroglyphs.

You barely had time to turn over another sheet when you heard his voice. Calm, almost serene, but with a cold, steely tinge.:

— *«What are you doing here, you sly fox?»

Malek stood in the doorway, his gaze as penetrating and penetrating as an X–ray.