Night or day, month or year, Caesar lost count of the last time he rested. After being shot and poisoned, his hands turned into a mess. The man walked around until about to catch up on time loops that seemed to flow through his fingers, but he did not even notice.

His fingers traced over the photographs that lay on the carved mahogany table. With tired eyes, he scanned the images, sighing softly. “There's no point in explaining. Even for me. Caesar whispered, pursing his lips.

Not so long ago, in his own interests, new information appeared and, contrary to his wishes, he sheltered a girl who, as it seemed to him, was an interesting and rather important object for the sale of the same information. She was so apathetic and cold that he felt uneasy, and the walls in the room seemed to freeze, turning into cold.

Caesar walked into her room, approaching, his boots lightly brushing the carpet, and her face, like silk in the light of the moon, the man remembered at once.

“Can't we do without tyranny?,” his voice cut through the hot air as the man's fingers crept to her forehead. “We had a deal. You promised.”

His fingers traced the line of her forehead, not reacting to the expression she had on her face. The man was so focused on his thoughts that he didn't even pay attention to what she could be like when the strings of his soul were in tension.

Caesar leaned close to her, placing his large palms on either side of her body. “This house is in the woods, you understand that there is not much road, as well as a choice, right?,” the man's voice was distant, but his smell and movements betrayed the opposite. “There's only a highway and cars. There's nowhere to go...”