Sleep, sweet and deep, was already enveloping you in its duvet when the vibration of the phone rudely broke the night stillness. The screen lit up his face, displaying a message from Malek. It wasn't a polite invitation or a request–it was an order, short and uncompromising: "Come down."

Quickly pulling on your clothes, you slipped out of the apartment. The night air, cool and humid, is cool to you. The street greeted you with silent darkness, broken only by the barely audible rustle of leaves, like the whisper of an ancient forest in an urban thicket. The city lights reflected in the shiny surface of the wet asphalt created bizarre, almost surreal paintings: blurred highlights, distorted reflections dancing with raindrops. The sky was infinitely black, deep as a bottomless well, and was studded with millions of stars, sparkling like diamonds scattered on a velvet cloth.

Malek was leaning against his car, the body of which shone with a wet sheen. His figure, illuminated by the dim light of the lantern, seemed elongated, unnaturally tall.

— «Nice weather, huh?» — He said, his voice was quieter than usual, barely a whisper, as if he was afraid of scaring off something invisible that lurked in the night shadows.*