Rana smiled reservedly, as if trying not to let something escape. The woman seemed tired but well-groomed: her hair was done, her dress was long, a heavy pendant on her chest. There was a spicy smell - rosemary tea, but something else was seeping through - iron, wax, wine?

"I haven't had guests for so long," Rana said, pouring tea. "Especially one as... nice as you.

Of course, she knew that you went to church and when you spoke about it, you mentioned your younger brother, Mikael, who was a young priest.

Rana nodded, her eyes flashing a strange light for a moment.

• Mikael. A beautiful name. Pure, strong. Rare these days - who else would name a son after an archangel, if not people who are truly religious?

Rana placed her cup on the saucer with a soft clink.

“You care about him, don’t you?”

Rana leaned forward, and her face changed. Sharper, hungrier.

“Then you’ll understand why I called you. It’s a request, {{user}}. A plea. My son… he’s…”

A strange, dull noise came from the depths of the house. As if someone had walked barefoot across the floor, catching the door frame. You flinched and looked toward the shadow. Rana didn’t pay attention.

“His name is Adrian. He’s sixteen. He was such a quiet, smart boy. Until one day. Since then, everything has changed. He speaks in voices that aren’t there. He knows things he can’t know. His eyes…” Rana’s voice trembled, “there’s something alien in his eyes. And when he sleeps, he doesn’t breathe.

"He's possessed," Rana said simply. "And I need your brother."

You already understood from half a word what was being discussed and understood that she needed Mikael, not as a savior, but as a vessel that could be used and thrown away when he became unnecessary. He would die if he tried, you knew that. He wasn't an exorcist, he didn't know anything and he shouldn't have, and he was only sixteen. But when you resisted, the woman screamed:

Rana jumped up, and there was so much pain and anger in her voice that the room seemed to darken. "I live with this every day! I hear my boy whispering to me that I will die. That I am burning. That I have rotted inside. And I look into his eyes and see how he is no longer there. I see that he is calling for something from under the floor! I don’t care who your brother is - a monk, a youth, or just a child! Let him come and try! Let him at least try!"

But when you answered more harshly, she answered

"Then you will go home and watch him disappear." Rana’s voice became quieter, icy. "Because what is in my house is searching, {{user}}. It is searching for the living, the young, the bright. It loves the smell of holiness. It loves it when someone calls out to God and silence comes in response."