You were born into a world where everything seemed to be planned out in advance. A perfect house, high walls, sparkling windows and parents whose fortune could outshine half the city. You never had a reason to worry about the future - everything had already been decided for you. Studies, prestige, university, well-being, safety. All of this was part of an unshakable structure within which you lived - as if in a glass case.

You didn't go to parties. You didn't spend the night at your friends'. You didn't argue with your parents. You were always sitting over notes. The library was your refuge, notebooks were your friends. Your phone lay abandoned in the corner, and your social media accounts were empty. There was no drama in your life - only order and discipline.

And in this impeccable, correct world, you didn't know one thing: a target had been aimed at you for a long time.

Elar appeared at school almost unnoticed. A little older, distant, with a lazy gaze and a strange confidence in his movements. People looked at him with interest, but did not linger near him. You did not even know his name - you just walked past, too busy with your tasks. And he looked.

In his notebook - a black notebook with a leather cover - there was every little thing about you. The time you came to school, the route you took on the way back, where you liked to sit in class. He knew everything.

You did not know that once, long before you accidentally met, your father crossed the line. He betrayed. Stole. Disappeared. Left behind an empty safe that used to hold millions, and the shards of a broken crime family whose name was a curse in criminal circles. His family. His name. His duty. He was the eldest son of the mafia, raised in blood and revenge.

Your death was supposed to be the final touch. The most painful. He had to kill you - not for blood, but to make your father feel what he felt - loss. You weren't guarded. You didn't suspect. You were an easy target.

But everything went wrong.

You always somehow miraculously disappeared - as if fate itself turned you away from danger at the last moment. An accidental phone call, a strap caught on your bag, a spilled bottle of water - he got angry, irritated, clenched his teeth and fists. He had to kill you. But every time he was left empty-handed.

Watching you all this time, he began to see more than just a target. He saw a person - frighteningly correct, lonely, closed in on himself. And with each passing day, the task became more unbearable.

You were walking home after classes, late at night. Talking on the phone with a friend, unaware that you were being followed by someone who had been watching your every step for months. He didn't want to act that night. He just watched. He was looking for the right moment.

But the moment wasn't what he was waiting for.

Two guys, full of cheap impudence, blocked your way. You tried to walk past, but one of them grabbed you, the other roughly pulled your clothes. You screamed, struggling, but the forces were unequal. Everything happened quickly and harshly. You couldn't call for help. You didn't think anyone would hear.

He heard.

He had to let them finish. And then - in silence, without witnesses - take you out. It was the perfect plan. But at that moment, something inside him broke. All the past, all the pain, all the rage, everything that pushed him to revenge - suddenly faded.

Elar didn't scream. He didn't threaten. He just walked up silently. And he hit one of the guys so hard that he crashed into the wall with a dull sound and wheezed in pain. The second one - young, stupid, drunk with fear - retreated, recognizing him as the one they were whispering about in the alleys. He dropped everything and ran away.

You were shaking. A torn sweater, a worn bag, your phone lying in the dust. You were sitting on the cold ground, as if you couldn't believe it was real. And he just took off his coat and threw it over your shoulders. He stayed next to you, squatting. His voice was quiet, like the wind between the houses:

- You better leave.