Читать книгу "The Cage of Conscience"

– Are you okay? – he asked, his voice calm.

She looked at him, her eyes heavy with exhaustion and mistrust. Instead of answering, she turned to the mirror. Her reflection stared back with the same fear that lived inside her.

She gazed into the glass for a long time, searching for something she had long since lost. Her eyes, red from crying, reflected the same emptiness tearing her apart. She traced the tear-streaks on her cheeks, testing if they were real. Water dripped from her hair, plastered to her face. In that moment, she felt like the image no longer belonged to her. Her soul had slipped away into the shadows, leaving only a hollow shell behind.

– Your shower, – Igor said suddenly, breaking the silence.

He was sitting on the edge of the tub, fingers interlocked, his voice quiet but steady.

“I’ll wait.”

Anna nodded without looking at him.

As she moved toward the shower, her steps were cautious, as if she feared she might fall. She closed the glass door behind her and turned on the water. Scalding streams struck her shoulders, burning her skin – but she didn’t turn the heat down. It felt like she needed this pain, as if it could drown out everything else.

The water wasn’t just washing away dirt – it was scrubbing off the lingering traces of shame, of humiliation, of anger that had built up over the last few hours. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, letting the water stream over her face.

In that moment, Anna realized how unbearable it was to be here, in this place, with these people.

Her hands trembled as she ran them through her hair, trying to rinse out more than just dust.

When she came out, wrapped in a white towel, Igor had already stood up. He cast her a brief glance, said nothing, and only nodded toward the shower. Then, silently, he walked toward it – just as she had.

Anna slowly sank into a chair near the mirror, clutching the towel to her chest. She looked at her reflection but no longer tried to find herself in it. Her face was vacant, like a mask hiding everything that tore her apart inside.

Igor shut the glass door behind him and turned on the water. Cold jets struck his body immediately, but he didn’t adjust the temperature. It felt like the icy stream might make him feel something – anything other than the void that had engulfed him. He ran a hand over his face, barely keeping the flood of emotion at bay.

He thought about how they had ended up here. Every movement, every reaction – recorded, observed. His mind felt like a battlefield, torn between the necessity of obedience and the desperate urge to preserve even a sliver of humanity.

The water kept flowing, and he stood still, staring at a single point on the tile wall. All he felt was the weight of his own silence – and the impossibility of undoing what had already happened.

When he emerged, his hair was still wet, and his face was serious. He glanced at Anna, who was still sitting by the mirror. Her hands were folded on her knees, and her gaze was turned inward, to some unreachable depth.

– Thank you, – he said quietly, sitting down on the floor across from her.

Anna lifted her eyes. Her look was heavy.

She wanted to respond, but no words came. Instead, she shifted slightly, giving him more space.

– How did you get here? – Igor asked, breaking the silence again.

His voice was soft, but tension lay beneath.

Anna remained silent for a long time.

She dropped her gaze, fingers anxiously fiddling with the edge of the towel.

Her breathing deepened, as if she were searching for the strength to answer.

– I… don’t even know, – she said at last, her voice barely a whisper.

– I was home. Drawing. Then I fell asleep. When I opened my eyes… I was here. Like it’s all just… a dream.

She fell silent, biting her lip.

Tears welled in her eyes, but she held them back.

– And you? – she asked, looking at him. Her voice trembled.

Igor sighed and closed his eyes briefly before answering.

– I was home too. Working on a project – an important step for my career. Then… I had some coffee, sat at my computer and… nothing. I woke up here.

He paused, staring at the too-perfect tile. Then, almost in a whisper, he added:

– To be honest, I thought I was dreaming a nightmare. But then I realized… nightmares at least come to an end.

Anna nodded, her gaze softening slightly. Her voice quivered again as she spoke:

– I wanted so badly to understand why this is happening. But I think… we’re just toys to them.

– Maybe, – Igor replied, his voice hardening a little.

– But we’re still alive. And that means we still have a chance to change something.

Anna looked at him – a spark of hope flickered in her eyes.

It was the first glimmer of light she had seen in all this time.

– What do you do? – Igor asked.

There was a pause.

Anna looked at him. Though her gaze was clouded, the weariness was still visible.

She ran a hand over her face, as if wiping off some invisible dust the shower couldn’t remove. Finally, she spoke:

– I draw, – she began softly, hesitantly, as if afraid her voice might echo too loudly.

– I’ve been drawing all my life. First – just scribbles on the wallpaper. Then… something more. And now… it’s all I have.

She smiled – but it was a sad smile, almost apologetic.

– I wanted to be an artist. A real one. Leave something behind. You know… exhibitions, galleries…

But in the end, I draw on commission – just to pay bills. Caricatures, portraits, whatever they ask for.

She sighed, her voice dropping.

– Sometimes I feel like I betrayed myself. Like I stopped being who I wanted to be.

Igor listened attentively, leaning forward slightly. He didn’t interrupt – his eyes fixed on her face, catching every emotion.

– That’s not betrayal, – he said at last, his voice even, but carrying warmth.

– You’re still drawing. Still creating. That’s already more than many ever do.

Anna shrugged faintly, as if disagreeing, but a flicker of gratitude passed through her eyes.

– And you? – she asked, shifting the focus. – What did you do… before all this?

Igor paused, his gaze briefly distant – lost in memories.

– I’m a programmer, – he said, smiling slightly – but it felt more like a mask than a true smile.

– I work with artificial intelligence. Always wanted to do something that would change the world. Or at least make it a little easier. But honestly? Most of the time I just fix why things don’t work for clients. And sometimes… I think that AI is way smarter than we are.

Anna smiled faintly – but her expression held understanding.

– Why’d you choose it? – she asked.

Igor shrugged, looking down at the floor.

– Hard to say. I always loved taking things apart as a kid – toys, radios… even dismantled an old TV once. I liked understanding how things worked.

Then… programming was the natural next step. Simple, really: code, functions, commands.

He paused, then added, more quietly:

– It gave me control. In life, you rarely get that. But in code… you always know what’ll happen if you do it right.

Anna nodded, her gaze warming. Her voice was gentle as she asked:

– And in life? Are you just as calm and logical as your programs?

Igor chuckled – but there was bitterness in his smile.

– I wish. But no. People… aren’t code. They don’t follow instructions or algorithms. And I… I like to plan, build systems. But when things go wrong… it throws me. Sometimes I shut down – just to avoid mistakes.

He fell silent, as if he had said more than he intended.

Anna studied him more closely. Her voice was almost a whisper – but held genuine curiosity.

– And then what? Are you always like that? Or do you ever let yourself… mess up?

When Igor looked at her again, his eyes narrowed slightly – deep in thought.

– Sometimes I do, – he said finally. – But rarely. The habit of staying in control… it’s strong. And you? Do you let yourself be… vulnerable?

Anna leaned back slightly. Her gaze turned wistful.

– Sometimes. But it’s hard. I’ve always hidden behind my drawings – behind what I create. They’re my shield. Like, if someone criticizes my work, it’s not as painful as if they criticized me. It’s easier that way.

She paused, then added:

– But it creates loneliness too. People only see the surface. Inside, there’s emptiness.

Igor nodded, his gaze softening.

– I get it. I’m the same. Only, instead of drawings, I have numbers, code, lines of text. Sometimes… they become your friends. Because real ones… they’re too complicated.

Anna smiled – a sad smile.

– So we’re the same, you and I? – she asked, with a hint of irony.

Igor smirked slightly.

– Maybe. But you know… maybe here, we can try not to be. Maybe just be… ourselves.

Those words lingered in the air. Anna looked at him – her gaze serious, but touched by something new: hope, perhaps. Or curiosity.

– Be ourselves? Here? – she echoed, doubtful.

– It’s like shouting into a void. Who would hear us?

Igor thought for a moment. Then replied:

– Maybe no one. But that doesn’t matter. Sometimes… it’s enough to speak. To be heard by even one person.

Anna nodded. And for the first time since the beginning of the experiment, a trace of warmth flickered in her eyes. Her fingers returned to nervously twisting the towel’s edge – as if that motion held some kind of comfort.

– You know, – she began, not lifting her gaze, – I’ve always been afraid of getting too close to people. It’s strange, isn’t it? You want someone to understand you, to be near.But when they get too close… it’s terrifying. It hurts when things go wrong.

Igor nodded, listening intently. His hands rested on his knees, fingers slightly clenched – he felt the tension too.

– That’s not strange, – he said softly. – Closeness is always a risk. The more you open up… the more it hurts if you’re not accepted. Or worse – if it’s used against you.

Anna met his gaze. Her eyes brimmed with a strange mix of sorrow and relief.

– Yes, – she whispered. – Sometimes it feels easier just to shut everyone out. Then at least no one can hurt you. But… that’s not living either, is it?

Igor leaned in, his eyes focused on her.

– It’s not,” he agreed. “It’s just surviving. I lived that way for years – in my work, my thoughts. Until one day I realized… I might look back and see only emptiness. No one there. Just me.

Anna watched him closely, as if trying to understand whether he truly meant it.

– And what did you do? – she asked.

Igor gave a faint, bitter smile.

– Tried to change it. It was scary at first. I started talking to people. Tried to be honest. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. But I learned – even if they reject you, it’s not the end. You’re still yourself.

Anna nodded thoughtfully. She ran her fingers through her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear.

– You’re braver than I am,” she said softly. I’m not sure I could do that. Every time I try to be honest… something goes wrong. And I start thinking it’s my fault. That I’m not good enough.

Igor frowned, his voice more firm now.

– That’s not true. The problem is never just in one person. Sometimes it’s timing. People. Expectations. Don’t blame yourself.

Anna looked at him with a small, grateful smile.

– You’re too kind, Igor, she said, but her tone was gentle, not sarcastic.

– I didn’t expect… to have a conversation like this. Here. Honest.

– What is there to lose here? – he replied. His voice steady, tinged with sorrow.

– Here, there’s no space for lies. They become too obvious. Maybe… for the first time, we can just be honest.

Anna considered his words.

– Maybe you’re right, – she said.

– Then… maybe we should tell each other what matters most – if honesty is all we have left.

Igor raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

– Like what? – he asked.

Anna hesitated. Her fingers once again began nervously working the towel’s edge.

– Like… – she said quietly but firmly, – what broke you the most in life?

Igor went silent. His gaze turned distant, like he had drifted into a memory.

After a moment, he sighed deeply and replied:

– Betrayal. I… trusted someone. We worked together. I considered him a friend. But he used me – to climb higher. I lost everything: the project, my reputation. At the time, it felt like the world collapsed.

Anna listened in silence.

When he fell quiet, she asked softly:

– Did you get through it?

Igor looked at her. His eyes were solemn.

– I did. It wasn’t easy. But I realized – sometimes, you have to let go of what’s destroying you. Even if it’s something you’ve fought for for years.

Anna was quiet, taking in his words. Her gaze softened again.

– And you? – he asked, suddenly.

– What broke you?

She closed her eyes for a moment, as if searching deep within for the answer.

– Loneliness, – she confessed.

– I got so used to being alone… it became my norm. But sometimes I look at people and realize – I want someone beside me. Someone who understands how I feel. But then… I’m scared it’ll hurt. So I close off again.

Her voice wavered, but she kept speaking.

– Maybe that’s why I love to draw so much. It’s my way of speaking… without revealing too much.

Igor nodded, his expression full of understanding.

– Maybe that’s not such a bad thing, – he said.

– But maybe… just maybe, it’s worth taking the risk. Even if it’s scary.

Anna looked at him, a spark igniting in her eyes.

– You think it’s possible? Here?

Igor smiled – a sad, uncertain smile.

– Here? I don’t know. But we can try. At least… with each other.

Anna nodded.

Her face softened. And in that moment, something fragile, yet real, bloomed between them —

like the first ray of light piercing a darkened room.

Chapter 4

Anna and Igor stepped out of the shower slowly, deliberately avoiding each other’s gaze. Their movements were restrained, as if each action demanded an immense effort. Water still streamed down their hair and shoulders, but they seemed oblivious to it. The other participants, seated in the room, turned their eyes away awkwardly. The atmosphere hung heavy, like a dense fog that pressed on the skin and mind alike. No one dared to speak.

The voice returned—cold, metallic, stripped of any human inflection:

– The first task is complete. Proceeding to the second. Speak of the worst thing you've ever done. Remember, any lie will be punished.

The words sliced through the air like a knife, leaving a stinging trace in everyone’s consciousness. The room froze. For a moment, it seemed no one was even breathing.

Faces paled. Tension drew taut across each expression. In their minds, long-buried secrets rose—dirty smudges they'd tried so hard to conceal. No one wanted to share. Yet no one dared to defy.

Igor sat at the edge of his bed, staring at the floor. His glasses had fogged up; he removed them and began cleaning them with the hem of his shirt, focusing on the simple act to avoid thinking about what was coming.

Vadim coughed, drawing attention. His voice—tall and tinged with sarcasm—rang out louder than expected:

– Well then, since this is turning into a circle of confessions, let’s be methodical about it. I say we go in order. That’ll speed things up.

His eyes flicked across the others, a smirk barely concealed. In that glance was something mocking, as if he already knew none of them could confess to anything darker than what he was holding. He liked the game. He liked feeling superior.

Olga scoffed. Her stern features hardened, and her voice cut through the air like a blade of ice:

– This is nonsense. Who even came up with this crap? You don’t have to obey some disembodied voice. Isn’t that obvious?

But her confidence faltered beneath the weight of silence. No one backed her. Her words lingered, suspended in the air like frost, never reaching their intended mark.

She knew resistance was futile. After the ultrasound incident, one thing had become clear: defiance led to pain. To humiliation. She pressed her lips together; her gaze sharpened, like thorns.

Anna glanced at her furtively, then looked away again. Her hands trembled. She clasped them tightly, locking her fingers in an effort to still them. She knew there would be consequences for silence—but fear held her tongue hostage.

Artyom, sitting on the floor, reached for the water bottle but froze mid-movement. His eyes grew serious, as if weighing something deep inside. Usually light-hearted and reckless, he now looked like a cornered animal. He exhaled sharply and muttered:

– Okay, so who’s first? Or are we drawing straws?

His words hung in the silence like lead. Katya, huddled in the corner, twitched nervously and whispered:

– Maybe… maybe it’s just a test? How would they even know if we lied?

Her voice quivered like a fragile string ready to snap. She glanced at Igor, hoping he would validate her hope. But he only shook his head, still staring down:

– I don’t think they lack the tools, – he said quietly. – If they can control what we do, they can probably detect lies too. Not worth the risk.

Katya lowered her head, as if scolded. Tears welled in her eyes, but she clenched her fists to hold them back. Artyom sighed and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. His gaze drifted from face to face, searching for support—and finding only the same fear and confusion.

– Well then, shall we begin? – Vadim challenged, standing. – Or are we sitting here until the next warning? I’ll go first if you’re all so scared.

His voice rang with confidence, but a faint edge of irritation peeked through. He was used to being in control—but in this cursed room, control was an illusion.

Olga glared at him but said nothing. Her pride wouldn’t allow her to admit he was right. She sat down on her bed, crossing her legs like a gate before her own emotions.

Anna flinched when the voice returned—quieter now, but no less commanding:

– Time starts now. You have one hour. Each truth will be counted.

Everyone looked around, waiting for someone to speak. The silence pressed on them like a sealed chamber, suffocating and close. It felt like one more second, and the air itself would burst, spilling all that had been hidden.

Artyom swallowed hard, forcing a strained smile:

– So? Am I first? Or does someone want to unburden their soul before I do?

Silence.

Igor finally put his glasses back on and shrugged slightly. Anna lifted her eyes, then exhaled deeply and said, in a voice both quiet and firm:

– I’ll go first.

Vadim smirked, folding his arms across his chest:

– A real pioneer. Always the first at everything.

Igor turned sharply toward him, his voice cold and steely:

– Shut up.

The silence returned—heavier this time.

Anna inhaled, like someone preparing to plunge into freezing water. Her face tensed, her eyes flickered with conflict. She knew that silence would bring punishment, and the quiet in the room now seemed to push her forward. Her trembling hands clasped tightly, knuckles whitening.

– It happened when I was sixteen, – she began, her voice tight. She stared past the others, eyes roaming the walls as if searching for a lifeline. – I had a best friend. Sasha. We’d known each other since childhood. He was… – she swallowed, holding her breath, – he was like a brother to me. We were so close, it sometimes felt like we could read each other’s minds.

Her voice trembled, but she refused to stop. Each breath she took sliced through the room like a razor blade. Vadim raised an eyebrow but said nothing. The others were frozen, gripped by a paralyzing stillness.

– Everything changed, – Anna continued, – one day. I overheard him talking. He told someone he was going to confess his love to a girl from another class. Her name was Liza. She was beautiful, smart, popular. A real school star. – Her voice faded, and she lowered her head. – I… I don’t know why it hit me so hard. Maybe jealousy. Maybe fear of losing him. But I couldn’t just accept it.

She paused, gathering the strength to go on. The tension in the room was almost tangible. Katya rubbed her arms as if chilled.

– At our school, rumors spread like wildfire, – Anna said, her voice rising slightly. – I decided to use that. I… – she swallowed again, fingers twisting the hem of her shirt, – I made something up. I told people Sasha stole money from the principal’s office. And to make it believable, I planted old, useless keys in his backpack. Someone decided that was evidence enough.

She raised her eyes. The pain in them silenced even Vadim’s smirk. The air grew heavier.

– By the next day, the whole school knew, – she said with a bitter laugh—short and sour, like something vile on her tongue. – I remember him standing in the courtyard. Ashamed. Trying to explain. Saying it wasn’t true. But… – her voice cracked, tears flowing freely now, – no one listened. Even Liza laughed with the rest. And I watched. I watched and thought I’d won. But inside… I felt like a monster.

Her hands trembled. Her voice barely rose above a whisper, but her words struck deep. She closed her eyes, trying to outrun the memory—but it chased her down.

– After that, Sasha stopped talking to me, – she whispered. – He just… vanished. His parents moved him to another school, and I never saw him again. I wanted to apologize, but I couldn’t. And then it was too late. I curse myself every day. Every time I look in the mirror, I see that girl—the one who betrayed her best friend. And that makes me…

She covered her mouth, unable to finish.

Silence filled the room. Tears fell onto her knees. Her shoulders shook. No one spoke. Even Vadim sat motionless. Katya looked like she wanted to hug Anna, but didn’t dare. Igor sighed but said nothing.

– You… – Artyom began, then stopped, words failing him. His usually bright face now bore only sorrow. He looked away.

– We all make mistakes, – Igor said softly, looking at Anna. His voice was calm, but heavy with sadness. – Especially when we’re young. That doesn’t make you a bad person. But it does make you… human.

Anna said nothing. Her breathing evened slightly, but her eyes stayed downcast. The others remained silent, lost in their own thoughts. Igor’s words hung in the air—fragile, uncertain—but there was something in them that almost resembled hope.

The silence that followed was no longer merely oppressive. It was a weight binding them together. No one knew what would come next—but all understood one thing: more stories would follow. And each of them would have to bare their own darkness.

Katya hugged her knees, fingers clutching the sleeves of her sweater. Her pale face flickered with fear. Her eyes darted from one person to another, searching for something—anything—that could keep her afloat as the memories began to pull her under.

– I… – Her voice was so faint it barely registered. She exhaled and drew in another breath, like a diver preparing to plunge.

– I’m next.

The words caught everyone by surprise. Even Anna, still reeling from her own confession, looked at her in astonishment.

Vadim gave a faint smirk but said nothing. The others froze, alert, as if sensing something heavy looming.

Katya opened and closed her mouth several times, as though searching for words. Her breathing was uneven, fingers nervously tugging at the hem of her sweater, until finally, she began:

– I have a younger brother. Danya. – She spoke the words with such caution, as if each one cut her from the inside. – He was always… fragile. Sick from the very beginning. Mom and Dad worried about him constantly. I remember the hospital visits, the doctors shaking their heads, and my parents… just clinging tighter to each other's hands.

Her voice trembled, and she paused, hiding her face in her hands. Then she lowered them, revealing a pale face streaked with tears.

– When I was seventeen, his condition suddenly worsened. Badly. He needed surgery right away, but it cost a fortune. Mom and Dad saved every penny. Took extra jobs, sold anything of value. They even gave up their vacation savings… everything. All for Danya.

She fell silent again—longer this time. Her lips quivered, her gaze fixed on the floor. No one hurried her. But the silence was unbearable. Artyom, sitting nearest, leaned forward slightly, as if about to speak—but thought better of it.

– And I… – Katya swallowed and looked at Vadim, as though fearing his judgment. – I was in love. Deeply. My friends were planning a week-long trip to Gelendzhik. It was my chance… my chance to be close to HIM. – She let out a bitter laugh, devoid of any joy. – I knew where my parents hid the money—in the closet, under the bed linens. I’d seen my mom tuck it away when she thought I wasn’t watching. And I…

Once more, she covered her face, but the words spilled out on their own now, released from restraint.

– I took it. All of it. The money they’d saved for Danya’s operation. I didn’t even think about what I was doing. I just… wanted to go. I wanted to be there, with my friends, with him.

Anna gasped, her face going almost ghostly. Even Vadim stiffened, folding his arms, his usual smirk gone. The others stared at Katya, transfixed, as if her confession had exposed something so terrible it seized them completely.

– I thought my parents would find another way. That they’d manage somehow. – Katya shook her head, her body shuddering. – But they couldn’t. The operation was delayed. Danya… he spent a month in the hospital, suffering. They eventually got the money. But they took out a loan. A huge one. We’re still paying it off.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she made no attempt to stop them. Her voice grew quieter, sharper with every word.

– My mom never found out it was me. She thought the money had been stolen. Blamed herself for hiding it so poorly. And I… – Katya closed her eyes, lips trembling. – I just watched. And stayed silent. Even when I saw her cry at night.

The last words dropped like stones into the room’s silence. Katya hugged herself, as if warding off the invisible cold that had settled over her. Her body trembled with quiet sobs.

– And the trip? – Vadim asked suddenly, his voice low and cutting, reverberating off the walls. – Was it worth it?

Katya looked up, meeting his eyes, hers brimming with pain, anger, and something deeper—perhaps despair.

No, – she whispered. – I ruined everything. Every relationship I had. And I never got any of it back.

Her words hung in the air. Vadim turned away, as if discomforted. No one spoke. Even Artyom, usually quick with reassurance, sat with his head bowed, fingers clenched so tightly they cracked.

Katya covered her face again, her soft sobs echoing in the funereal silence. No one dared break it—perhaps because everyone knew the next confession would hurt just as deeply.

Artyom exhaled loudly, ran a hand through his hair, and looked around as if preparing to leap from a cliff. His face, normally lit with a carefree smile, now looked foreign—dark and worn.

No one rushed him, but anticipation shimmered in the stillness. Even Vadim, usually dripping with cynicism, watched quietly, eyes sharp.

Alright, – Artyom said hoarsely, like forcing out something painful. "I guess it’s my turn."

He gave a dry chuckle—void of amusement. His gaze swept across the others, pausing on Anna, then Katya. Both sat tensely, bracing for a blow.

I had a friend. His name was Ilya, – he began, turning away and staring at the floor in shame. – We’d known each other since we were kids. He was… the good one. Always followed the rules. Never late, never broke a promise. A real idealist. And me?" He laughed shortly. "I was his opposite.

His fingers tapped rhythmically against his knee, as if searching for calm in the motion.

He always bailed me out, – Artyom went on. – When I messed up, got into trouble—he was there. Until, eventually… he had enough.

His voice hardened. His jaw clenched.

I was drowning in debt, – he confessed. – Owed a lot. And these weren’t the kind of people who wait. So I went to Ilya. Who else? I figured he’d help. But he said no. Can you imagine? My best friend. He told me I had to deal with my own mess. That it wasn’t his problem.

Anna inhaled softly, her lips tightening. Katya looked away, unable to face him. Even Vadim raised an eyebrow slightly, his expression unreadable.

I felt betrayed, – Artyom continued. His voice cracked, but he pressed on, the words dragging themselves out. – Angry. Bitter. Furious. And that night… I got drunk. So drunk I could barely think. But I remember seeing him. Leaving the party. Getting into his car. Alone. And all I could think was, ‘So you said no? Fine. You’ll pay for that.’

He paused, rubbing his temples as though trying to erase the memory.

I got in my car, – he said. – Followed him. The road was narrow—woods on one side, a drop on the other. I cut him off. Forced him to swerve. His car crashed into a tree.

Artyom dropped his head, trembling—not from tears, but from the memory itself. The others sat frozen. Anna clenched her hands. Katya didn’t move. Even Vadim seemed shaken, his stare now intense.

He survived, – Artyom said quietly. – The airbags saved him. He was lucky. But I… I called the police and left. Parked my car around the corner so they’d think it was just an accident. That he fell asleep at the wheel.

He wiped his face, eyes full of bitterness.

They blamed him. Gave him a suspended sentence. He lost his job. His family turned their backs on him. And me? I walked away clean. No one ever knew. No one suspected.

Silence. Heavy, unbearable.

Anna looked as if each word hurt her. Katya pressed her hand to her mouth, eyes wet with tears. Even Igor seemed at a loss for words.

But Artyom wasn’t done.

I disappeared from his life, – he said. – Stopped talking to him. I couldn’t face him. And the worst part? I don’t even know how he is now. Maybe he recovered. Maybe not. But every time I sit behind the wheel, I see that road. I see myself cutting him off. And I know—there’s no going back.

His voice broke. He lifted his eyes, scanning the others for a flicker of understanding. But none met his gaze. In that moment, he became a different person to all of them.

Silence descended—dense as fog. And in that silence, it seemed each of them was being haunted by their own ghosts.

Igor sat hunched at the edge of his bed, hands clasped tightly on his knees, as if holding back a storm inside.