His grey irises, usually cold in their gaze, now sparkled as he stared at the One Times Square building, its exterior walls covered in billboards and widescreen televisions. The man had woken up very early just to experience what it felt like to stand at the legendary intersection where Broadway and Seventh Avenue meet—the bustling area between West 42nd and West 47th Street.
Surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the Theatre District, blocks stretching from Sixth Avenue to Eighth Avenue, and from West 40th to West 53rd Street, Noel was swept away by the panorama of a metropolis that never sleeps. Times Square, the heart of the city that never quiets down from footsteps and rays of light. He stood in its midst, as if becoming a small part of the world's pulse.
He had been walking around for nearly an hour. Noel never grew tired of looking, as if storing every second in his memory. He had dreamed of coming to this place for a long time, and finally, after everything he had been through, that dream came true.
While he was engrossed in staring at the giant screen on the side of the building, his shoulder suddenly collided with that of a teenage boy. Noel quickly turned his head and saw a surprised expression on the boy's face—confused, nervous, and... something indescribable.
They stared at each other for a few seconds, until the teenager said, "Sorry."
"It's fine," Noel replied briefly, then turned his gaze back to the large screen before him, ignoring the teenager who walked away quickly.
Not long after, a tap on his shoulder startled him.
"Noel, how can you be here?" asked someone—Gregory.
The man was still wearing the same clothes as the night before when he had left Noel alone in boredom.
"Me? I'm just out for a walk. You know, I was bored alone... eh!"
Before he could finish his sentence, Gregory immediately pulled him away from the crowd that was starting to get dense. Although his wrist was tightly gripped, Noel didn't protest, only following Gregory's hurried steps toward a narrow alley between two tall buildings.
At first, Gregory struggled with how to explain without making Noel worried, but Gregory had no other choice. Clearly, he said, "Nate is a wanted man by the FBI and other international agencies."
And as Gregory had suspected, Noel's face turned pale. His breath hitched, his stomach tightened. Panic surged from within. But that expression actually looked comical to Gregory. To the world, Nate was a ruthless hitman. But now, that body was inhabited by the soul of a young Russian who was even afraid to talk to the police.
"What… what should I do?" asked Noel, panicking. He imagined himself getting arrested, thrown into a federal prison, becoming a target...
Gregory sighed heavily. "The important thing is, the police don't know your face."
"I... I talked to a cop earlier," Noel said quietly.
Gregory's eyes widened. "WHAT? What did you say? How did you get away?!"
"I just asked for directions to Times Square."
There was no response from Gregory; the British man looked Noel up and down from head to toe. A light blue hoodie with a cat's face on it, trousers with cuffed hems. If you looked closely, his way of dressing was like a teenager's. Not at all reflecting a hitman and international fugitive.
Once again, Gregory let out a long, relieved sigh.
However, beneath that relief, unease gnawed at his chest. His eyes swept around, wary of every face that passed. Times Square wasn't just an entertainment hub—this place was an ocean of people with thousands of pairs of eyes. And among them, anyone could be a bounty hunter.
Gregory knew well; Nate's face was plastered on the FBI's most wanted list with a fantastic price tag. $500,000 for anyone who provided accurate information. Enough to tempt even the most honest person. Enough to turn every stranger on this street into a threat.
And now, Noel—an innocent soul completely unaware of the danger—had walked for hours in the busiest city center in America. Wearing the face that was spread across intelligence networks worldwide. Smiling innocently like a tourist, carefree, without fear.
Gregory bit his lip. If only someone had taken a photo, sent it to the right agency... No, he didn't want to imagine it.
"Alright, let's go home."
Noel nodded. He obeyed what Gregory said even though he wasn't satisfied with exploring the streets of Times Square yet.
But in silence, Gregory quickened his pace. His hand unconsciously clenched in his coat pocket. Every second they spent in public was a risk. Every person who glanced in Noel's direction was a potential disaster.
*
A glass skyscraper towered among the Moscow skyscrapers. On one of its floors, a handsome man in a black suit sat calmly, facing a wide glass wall that presented a night view of the city. In his hand was a glass of the most expensive gold edition Ruski Imperium vodka, slowly being sipped.
On the gleaming mahogany table lay a name tag made of glass inscribed with: Генеральный директор Generalnyy direktor. A soft knock on the door made him turn slightly.
"Come in!" he said flatly, allowing whoever had knocked on the door to enter immediately.
It didn't take long; a large man in a simple black suit entered. "Mr. Belinsky, we have successfully found the information." Then he placed a folder on the table.
The man put down the wine glass he had been holding, then took the folder lying on the table, reading sheet after sheet of paper containing information about someone. His lips curled into a smile, or rather a sneer.
"So your hiding place all this time has been in Manhattan, huh?" He muttered to himself before turning his attention back to the man. "Prepare the plane, I want to leave tonight."
---
A plane landed at John F. Kennedy International Airport at 9:40 PM. A handsome man in a black suit with sunglasses perched on his sharp nose stepped off the plane arrogantly, followed by several bodyguards. A few strands of his dark brown hair blew in the wind. The man's arrival was immediately greeted by a chauffeur who had been waiting for him in front of a black BMW.
After opening the door for his boss, the chauffeur got in and drove to a place as ordered, with three other cars following behind.
*
Snow continued to fall throughout the night. Noel Baluev woke from his sleep because of hunger. His eyes looked out the window; Noel could hear the roar of wind pressing against the glass. He sat up and checked the time on the phone Gregory had given him. The clock showed 10:39 PM.
The apartment where they were hiding was on the twenty-third floor of a luxury residential building in Manhattan's Upper East Side. The Carlyle—one of the elite apartments with the highest security in New York. This place was chosen by Gregory because of its strict privacy policy; no questions, no excessive record-keeping, just money and everything was arranged in silence.
This had become their pattern. Every few months, Gregory would move Nate to another city or country. Moscow, Berlin, Warsaw, Prague, and now New York. Running from one hiding place to another, leaving deliberately obscured traces. However, this time, they had been staying at The Carlyle for almost five months—too long by Gregory's standards. But Nate, or rather the soul now inhabiting Nate's body, knew none of that. Noel only knew that this apartment was comfortable, warm, and safe enough to make him forget that out there, Nate's name was plastered on the FBI's most wanted list with a half-million-dollar price tag.
Noel left his room and headed to the kitchen looking for something to silence his growling stomach. However, it seemed he didn't find any food in the refrigerator, only some alcoholic beverages.
He reluctantly had to go out in the middle of the night like this. After putting on a wool coat, Noel stepped out of the apartment. He remembered Gregory's message: Return home quickly once you've found what you're looking for. Remember, don't speak to anyone you meet on the way. Trust no one, and make every effort to avoid the police.
His steps moved toward the corridor, cutting through the silence of the thick carpet that wrapped the apartment hallway. The wall lamps glowed dimly, lighting the way for every step Noel took toward the elevator. The ground floor button was pressed, the elevator doors closed slowly, taking him down in a silence accompanied only by the hum of the machine.
When the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, Noel was greeted by The Carlyle's luxurious and silent lobby. Shiny black marble on the floor reflected the light of crystal chandeliers hanging majestically from the ceiling. Two large pots with dwarf palms decorated the corners of the room, while old brown leather sofas were neatly arranged near the entrance. Behind the reception desk, a middle-aged man with thin graying hair was busy arranging documents. His face was distinctly Slavic—prominent cheekbones, a sharp nose, and fine wrinkles around his eyes that spoke of experience. From his accent when greeting a few previous residents, Noel could guess that the man was from Russia, perhaps from the same hometown as his former self.
As Noel crossed the lobby, the man looked up. His old brown eyes glanced briefly, then returned to his documents without a single word. In a place like The Carlyle, residents are respected by being left alone—without questions, without excessive attention. Just as Gregory wanted.
Fortunately, there was a fast-food restaurant not far from the apartment. The corridor was quiet; Noel thought that most of the residents were probably already fast asleep.
When he reached the main corridor leading to the exit, someone called Nate's name from a distance. Noel's steps stopped.
"Who's that?" he asked. The moment Noel realized his way of speaking was different from the real Nate's, he repeated. "Who are you? What business do you have with me?"
The person who had called him was a middle-aged man in a neat black suit.
The middle-aged man answered politely, "Director Tsvetkov & SON. Inc would like to meet with you."
Noel's eyebrows furrowed when he heard the word 'Tsvetkov'; he remembered Gregory's message telling him to avoid anyone who might know Nate. Adjusting his tone of voice to be as similar to Nate's as possible, Noel said, "Tell him I'm busy."
"Mr. Tsvetkov only wants to talk with you briefly," the man replied, sounding pleading.
Noel pretended not to hear, trying not to care, but deep in his heart there was a sense of pity because in his entire life, no one had ever pleaded with him in such a begging tone, even though Noel knew that plea was meant for Nate. Just as he was about to step forward again, Nate suddenly stopped when a baritone voice sounded, so familiar and cold.
"It's alright, I'm already here." The owner of the voice came from the left wing of the apartment building. His footsteps were calm, approaching. He might have already been standing behind Noel.
"Long time no see, Nate." That flat-toned baritone entered Noel's hearing.
Turning to the figure behind him, Noel could hardly believe what he was seeing. His breath suddenly hitched; something trapped in his ribs felt like it was being pumped. That man, the man who had long been Noel's nightmare in the past, was now back.
A pair of hazel eyes that held everything behind their gaze stared intently, while their owner closed the distance. Noel could see his own reflection in the man's eyes. Although fifteen years had passed, the look in that man's eyes still carried the same color.
"Alexei Tsvetkov..."
[•°]