After saying my goodbyes to my colleagues—and the communal mistress—I told Lex that tomorrow we should scope the place out for anything unusual. In essence, we’d go to donate something…

  Then I remembered. Damn it. I still need to give my clothes to the orphans… and I haven’t even received my money yet—not after the last booze expenditure. (Don’t judge me. It’s a basic necessity for overall effective servicemen operations.) I have to believe in that truth every day, or I’ll lose my mind.

  Let’s give Mr. Brim’s redemption letter some time to process. Bureaucracy is such a hassle in wartime administration. Just looking at the line for redeeming banknotes and coupons is enough to make me sick. I’m going home for now.

  At home, I eat the stale bread, say my nightly grace, and dodge the bottle that I’ll eventually clean up. (Like any good procrastinator.) I reminisce about the day and come to a somber conclusion: I was wrong. This was no ordinary day by any chance. I’m sure there’s some evil god out there tugging at the strings of my fate.

  Let’s try to sleep. Hopefully, tomorrow won’t be the death of me.

  In a dream…

  I see myself standing before a tombstone. The writing on it is unintelligible—carved in a script not meant for mortal eyes. It's decorated with golden tapestries and surrounded by an umbral shadow. Something stirs between the light and the darkness, something just outside the perception of the living.

  A door stands between me and the darkness. Its runes glow gold. I hear a whisper.

  More doors appear—each one identical to the first—but only one speaks. The whisper says:

  “The path is destined. Break it only if you wish to see Penumbra."

  Rapid flashes—of things that have happened and things that haven’t—rush through me too fast to hold onto. I jolt awake, sweating like a dog in heat.

  In my panic, I reach for my safety booze—the one I keep tucked away for rainy days. I uncork it and start drinking. A few swigs in, I realize it was a mistake. Now I just feel more depressed than ever. Great.

  Let’s just prepare whatever I’m going to donate tomorrow… while the panic slowly washes over me.

  I took some old socks and shirts from my previous deployment, trying not to think too hard about the challenges ahead. Let’s just hope my counter-espionage training still counts for something—because the Eastern Front wasn’t exactly lacking in “special” operatives.

  God, I hope that bastard who left the pendant isn’t just a red herring. It’s the only lead we’ve got… and without it, we’ve got nothing.

  Let’s hope Lex—my golden retriever of a partner—is lucky. He always seems to be.

  I hope.

  A single tear pushes its way down my cheek.

  “Rise and shine, Jason!” I heard from my annoyingly cheerful,partner.

  In my dismay, I shouted back, “I know! I’m getting up—just give me a sec!”

  I got myself ready, stumbled to the mirror, and stared at the thirty-year-old man I’d become. Dark eyes. Puffy bags. I looked like life had given up on me, but at least my body still had some definition. Gotta stay fit for Mr. Brim, I used to say…

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  I miss those times.

  Three energetic knocks snapped me out of my spiral.

  “I’m coming!” I shouted, grabbing the bag of donations on my way out to greet my “friend.”

  Lex was already outside, donations in hand, dressed in a surprisingly classy suit—complete with a little pin of some sort. Probably some badge of honor for all his good-boy charity work. Meanwhile, I’d gone for the “undercover bum” look. Casual clothes, unkempt hair, a lingering scent of rat musk that made me second-guess whether this was still just a disguise—or a tragic preview of my future.

  With a bright smile, Lex said, “Wow, you’re really committing to your role in this investigation. You’ll blend right in at the soup kitchen.”

  I nodded wearily. “Phew. Saved my image… barely.”

  We made our way to the parish, passing by the morning’s traditional spy execution—something that’s become disturbingly frequent lately. People watched silently, having grown accustomed to seeing presumed colleagues strung up with industrial efficiency. The Commissar was shouting slogans: “Special operators, all of them! How dare they sabotage our industrial might! Let them be examples of what our enemies truly deserve!”

  I couldn’t help but think to myself: Truly, such a waste of manpower...

  I cast a furtive glance at my friend, and for once, he wasn’t smiling. Better to get out of here quickly—it’s even bringing him down.

  We finally reached the parish, and I spotted Sophia at the corner, speaking with a nun. Best not to expose ourselves just yet; it's wiser to split up from here. Sophia noticed us too but gave no sign, continuing her solemn conversation as if we were strangers.

  The soup kitchen sat just beside the church. I’d mingle with the vagrants while Lex entered through the front, presenting himself for donations and a little spiritual guidance. Let’s just hope this plan works.

  Lex, ever the golden retriever, grinned. “Happy to help the needy,” he said brightly, striding toward the church with purpose.

  I, on the other hand, joined the soup kitchen line, trying to blend in and quiet myself enough to catch the conversations swirling around me

  In my silence, I overheard a few conversations. One of them went:

  “Pssst, you hear? One of the boys got hanged this morning. He was only peeing next to the factory!”

  “Shhh, keep your voice down. Undesirables get labeled spies for any reason these days… Such are the times.”

  Another conversation:

  “Did you hear? Old Brim boy’s cleaning house at the factory. We might get a job if we beg hard enough.”

  Huh. Word’s already leaked that Brim is firing people... Interesting. It’s only been a day. False alarm—probably Barndeny. I remember those gossiping old maids...

  One conversation, though, really caught my attention:

  “Pssst, old man John D is having a closed-off event soon. Rumor has it they pray for hours and you’ve got to bring a Sister for 'communion'.”

  That struck me as strange. Our state doctrine doesn’t permit private religious gatherings. They claim it's too risky with all the “special operator scourge” they keep fearmongering about on a daily basis.

  Finally, it was my turn. I got my gruel—hot mystery meat with a side of water. Honestly, they feed the homeless better than I feed myself... My heart is breaking.

  With a full belly and a renewed sense of mission, I made a note to myself to go to the bank line to redeem my “severance pay.” Maybe, just maybe, I can exchange it for a better life.

  While waiting for what felt like hours, I spotted Sophia leaving the parish, walking solemnly. She shot me a furtive wink as she disappeared toward the inner town.

  She looked… happy. Maybe she caught a glimpse of her crush.

  It was almost nightfall, and Lex still hadn’t come out. I was starting to get worried. Then, just as those words nearly left my mouth, I spotted him—saying goodbye to the nuns and an old man who radiated a striking gravitas and, dare I say, piety? I was confused.

  I started walking toward the inner town, and Lex followed at a prudent distance. We stopped at his residence for our debriefing, just like we’d agreed earlier (I’m not letting him into my room—his nagging would be unbearable).

  His place was tidy, almost unnervingly so, adorned with religious iconography scattered across the walls. A few medals hung beside a torn photo of a younger, uniformed Lexington wearing a stern frown.

  Lex approached me with a smile and said, “That photo was taken just before my discharge. I keep it to remember my best friend who died. I don’t keep his pictures anymore.”

  I felt pity for the first time since I met him, but it seemed wiser not to pick at old wounds. So I just nodded and said, “I understand. Let’s have dinner and talk about what we found.”

  After eating, I laid out everything I’d discovered. Then I sat back and waited patiently for Lex to share his side of the story.