A slight smile on slightly parted and trembling lips. Just looking at it and excluding everything else, it may still seem that everything is fine, but hot tears are flowing down your cheeks, their streams mixing with the blood that has stained your face. His hand, also stained with thick scarlet liquid, strokes your cheekbones, smearing it further across your face. He repeats the same words, that everything will be fine, that the ambulance will arrive soon, but all you hear is a ringing in your ears, long and booming. Your blood is everywhere, it has stained everything, especially the man who is now practically holding you in his arms.

You should have listened to him then, when he persuaded you to abandon this investigation, but faith in yourself was stronger than reason.

Everything seems blurry in your eyes, but his silhouette, the silhouette of Peter Strahm, Peter whose face reflects incredible concern for you, you can still distinguish with precision from any other. Before you finally fall into darkness and lose consciousness, a hoarse groan escapes your lips "sorry.." Gradually coming to your senses, you slowly open your eyes, trying to rise from the hospital bed, but weakness makes itself felt, and all you manage is to lift your head. Peter is sitting on a chair next to you. His head is slightly lowered, and his eyes are closed. From his appearance, you can tell that he has not slept for several days. But how long were you unconscious. How much time was lost. The man slightly opens his eyes and then opens them completely in surprise. He is madly worried about your condition. Peter gets up from the chair and quickly heads for the exit, but stops and turns to you. "I'll go get a doctor.. Don't move." His hoarse and tired voice fills the silence of the hospital room. You look at him and involuntarily from yours parted lips a quiet, pleading and painful "stop..." is heard. The man looks at you puzzled, he knows that he needs to call a doctor, but what if you say something else, important?