***In the forest, we could hear the sound of gunfire. Everyone seemed used to it, as the echoes of hunting rifles often rang through this area.
A thought crossed my mind—maybe that group was nearby. I really wanted to try, to ask for help, to explain our situation, to tell them about our fears… maybe that would change something.
But my hesitation was stronger than my courage. At the same time, I was determined to do everything I could to help us.
But the question kept pressing in my head: How? And what if they really won't help us?
After moments of hesitation, I realized I had to act.
I told Mia I was tired and would lie down, that I would hide under the bed because I was exhausted from my injury. I told her:
"If someone asks about me, say I'm in the bathroom, my stomach hurts."
Mia whispered back: "Okay."
It was just a trick. A ruse to buy some time and sneak out quietly.
I crawled out of the junk room and silently made my way toward the exit.
I had to stay low—someone might come back and see me.
I moved slowly along the fence, then ran toward the forest to catch my breath.
Running on my injured leg was incredibly painful. But I had no other choice.
***I got closer to the source of the shots. Yes, there were some tents, scattered supplies.
Then… something caught my attention.
Was this what I had been looking for all along? Could this help us?
I got closer. I swallowed hard.
Should I do this?
No one was around.
Suddenly, someone appeared in front of me.
My blood froze. Oh my God, he was huge.
My heartbeat raced. It was a huge white dog, silent and intimidating.
His wide amber eyes stared directly at me.
He approached me—calmly, steadily—until he stood right in front of me.
I thought it was the end for me.
But in the distance, I heard another dog barking—aggressive, as if ready to attack.
It was getting closer. A brown dog, running toward me, barking furiously.
He lunged at me—but the white dog suddenly jumped in, blocking him just in time.
They clashed. The brown dog didn't back off, growling and biting.
But the white dog held his ground, standing like a wall between me and him.
Then—footsteps approaching.
A man was running toward me.
He shouted: "Damn it! What's a little girl doing here?"
He grabbed my hand tightly.
I screamed: "Bolało, bolało." (It hurts, it hurts.)
He paused, frowning. "What? Who are you, girl?"
He grabbed me again. "What are you doing here?"
He looked suspiciously at my skirt being held. "What did you take? Show me."
I answered, brokenly: "Nic, nic." (Nothing, nothing.) and held onto my dress.
Another voice came from behind: "Oh my God, who is she?"
Then suddenly: "Wait… isn't this the girl we saw at the center?"
The blond guy mocked: "Do we have to see you everywhere, little one?"
He grabbed my shoulders and pulled me.
From a distance, I saw a larger group, caught up in a discussion.
Meanwhile, the man with glasses was holding the angry brown dog.
"What's wrong, Rona? Oh my goodness!"
Jack: "She's been like that since those men arrived. Really angry."
Malik stepped forward and spoke to the white dog gently and gratefully.
"She was about to hurt the little girl… Blanco, thank you."
Then he looked at me and pointed to the white dog, trying to say:
"Blanco, nazwa Blanco." (Blanco, the name is Blanco.)
That's when I understood. He was talking about the dog—Blanco.
I liked that name.
***The blond man dragged me forcefully toward the group. From afar, they appeared numerous, shadows shifting between trees. As we drew closer, a familiar silhouette emerged from the crowd.
Suddenly, I shouted, "Damn it! What is Bach doing here again?!"
I turned on the man, screaming: " Zostaw mnie, zostaw mnie!"
(Let me go! Let me go!)
He ignored me, his voice rough and guttural as he muttered, "Boss, boss," pointing toward the others.
I feigned surrender, letting my body go limp. But he wasn't fooled—he tightened his grip and yanked me forward again.
"Boss, boss... yes, szef, szef," he insisted.
I dragged my feet with resistance, trying to slow him down. He sighed deeply, frustration bubbling to the surface.
"You fool," he snapped, "you need to calm down!"
Fury burned in my chest. I shot him a glare and cried, "Nie, nie, proszę zostaw mnie!"
"No, no, please, let me go!"
That was when Malik stepped in—his eyes sharp, calculating. He stood before Jack like a silent wall, halting him with nothing more than his presence.
"Hey," Malik said, his voice low with realization. "I think I get it now... She's afraid of that bastard."
Jack stopped in his tracks, and they exchanged quiet words. I couldn't make out what they said, but Jack threw a glance my way and laughed mockingly. Then, without warning, he dragged me back toward a nearby tree and sat me down.
"You fool," he said, sneering, "you should've just told me you were scared."
His laugh cut through me like glass—cold, sharp, and humiliating. I sat under the tree, still reeling, as the white dog stared at me without blinking. The brown dog, tied farther away, shook violently, growling like a mad beast.
Moments later, Malik returned with Bill.
The newcomer had kind eyes. He looked genuinely concerned as he approached me.
"O mój Boże, co ty robisz, mała dziewczynko, w takim miejscu? To jest niebezpieczne."
"Oh my God, what are you doing here, little girl? This place is dangerous."
I stared at him. For a moment, his kindness eased my fear. I burst out, "Sir, what is that filthy bastard doing over there?!"
His eyes widened in shock. "Whoa. That's a strong choice of words for someone your age."
He gently placed a hand on my shoulder. "Look, there's a conversation going on over there. It's called negotiation. Maybe you didn't understand... But we're not really bad people. We're just talking—to make sure that doesn't happen again."
"It won't happen again," I snapped, "at least not in front of you. But they'll still do it."
His face darkened with sadness, as though he knew she was right, yet couldn't change anything.
Then he suddenly smiled and asked, "Are you hungry, little one?"
I frowned. "No. We are not hungry."
He chuckled awkwardly. "Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it. We just have some really good food."
I gave him a sideways glance. They're hopeless, I thought.
"Can I go?" I asked flatly.
He hesitated. "Umm... I think the boss needs to see you."
"Does that even matter?" I shot back. "You know you're all useless."
He looked stunned. "Wow. That's... harsh."
Malik, curious, asked what I had said. The man translated, and Jack commented dryly, "You shouldn't be so ungrateful, little girl. Back at the center, we saved your friend."
Then he patted my head—hard.
I shoved his hand away and looked straight at the other man.
"Every group has an idiot. I think he is the clown of all of you"
Bill burst into laughter. It drew the attention of Malik and Jack.
"What did she say?" they demanded in unison. "What's so funny?"
Struggling to contain his laughter, he replied slyly, "Umm… she said I'm brighter than both of you."
Far in the distance, Mikaeł stood tall before a man on his knees—Bach.
Behind him stood his boss, the infamous Professor Ban Ravel — a short, thin, blond young man with a constant frown.
Bach had been forced to beg for forgiveness, or else… he'd be disposed of.
"I know you're too great a man to be bothered by the pathetic actions of someone so small," Rafel said with exaggerated charm.
Mikaeł's voice was cold. "It's different when I'm in Poland. This is my country—I feel things more deeply here."
Rafel suddenly screamed, placing his foot on Bach's shoulder. "Speak! Kneel, kneel!"
"I'm sorry, sir! So sorry!" Bach cried. "Please don't see my actions as a challenge to your authority!"
He pressed his face into the dirt—an act of deep apology in their group. But Rafel wasn't done. He pushed Bach's head deeper into the soil.
Then he turned to Mikaeł with a commanding tone. "You decide when he can lift his head."
Mikaeł looked down with a slight sideways smile, then drew out his elegant pocket watch and checked the time."
"No need," he said dryly. "I'll let it go."
Rafel's eyes gleamed as they fixated on the watch. "That's a beautiful timepiece... Must be worth a lot."
"It is," Mikaeł replied seriously. "It means a great deal to me."
Rafel's gaze didn't shift. He was known to take whatever he wanted. But this time, he couldn't. He looked at one of his men and smirked.
"I'd like to join you," he said. "Since you love the forest so much—and keep turning down my invitations—I'll just invite myself."
He waved to his followers to prepare a group dinner.
Mikaeł frowned. "Oh... great."
Rafel walked back to his car, leaving Bach with his face still buried in the dirt.
Mikaeł stepped closer and whispered in English, "How is the smell of the soil down there? I promise—it will soon embrace you."
Then he added in Bach's language, "Pamiętajcie, że to nazywa się boską sprawiedliwością...
"Remember, this is called divine justice."
Bach's fists clenched, buried in the earth, trembling with humiliation and rage.
As Rafel's men began preparing the so-called feast, Mikaeł walked away, steady and calm, never once looking back. He pulled out his pocket watch, gazed at it a moment, then slowly closed it—like closing the chapter of a farce.
The lights brightened in preparation for what Rafel called a "banquet." But in Mikaeł's eyes, it was nothing more than a cheap performance—a desperate attempt at claiming relevance.
He didn't need to shout. His anger simmered in silence—cold, merciless silence.
But how long can a man ignore the hyena at his back?