The door slammed opened. Exiting an elderly looking man dressed in a fine silky gown, his face flushed red. He muttered something incomprehensible, crumpled his numbered slip in his fist, and tossed it to the floor before scurrying past the beggar in a hurried shuffle.

  Something slipped from his pocket, falling soundlessly to the ground. The old man didn’t notice.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Watching as the owner disappeared down the corridor, the beggar approached the fallen object—a thin, rectangular card. He picked it up and examined it. It bore a name and an insignia: Central Archive.

  Owner: Alexandr Ivanovich.

  Seeing no one watching, he quickly tucked it into his pocket.

  Inside the room , a distant murmur of voices rose and then faded. Moments later, the door creaked open on its own.