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Rocket was about to call out to the guy when he noticed that the door to the room was slightly ajar. He pushed it open with his fingertips and immediately saw the boxer, face‑first on the floor.
He was lying on the floor near the sofa, in a completely unnatural position, as if he had simply fallen off it and hadn’t even tried to get up. One arm was stretched out along the body, the other was carelessly bent at the chest. His head was tilted to one side, and his gray hair fell over his face, obscuring part of his features.
For the first few seconds, Rocket just looked at him. -
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That day, the city was completely covered in a snow white veil. Snow had buried the streets overnight so deeply that the familiar outlines of the buildings disappeared, while the rare passersby looked like random spots on a huge sheet of paper.
Katana sat on the steps, looking at the snow covered houses n the clear sky, lost in his thoughts. The steps were not meant to be a place to rest, but who cared? Today, the police officer had been on his feet for too long, listening to other people’s conversations and convincing himself that he absolutely did not want to get home as soon as possible.
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Zuka didn’t even remember exactly how they had met. Only a blurry image: an office, papers, dry formalities n the announcement that from now on they were partners, obligated to fight side by side.
But what he remembered most was something else: how, upon leaving the office, he felt someone else’s presence behind him. Noisy, annoying, even irritating to some extent. Darkheart followed after him like a shadow that could never be gotten rid of.
