The storm had scoured Vladivostok clean, but it hadn't quieted it.By morning, the markets were open again, the smell of fish and diesel drifting through the narrow streets. Dockside gossip moved faster than the tide, and Mitya's name — or at least one of his names — was already in the current.
They didn't say "Mitya Rybakov." They said the ghost.The one who could move anything, anywhere, without leaving a trace.
The Murmurs
At the tea stalls, men in heavy coats leaned close, trading stories in low voices.A shipment pulled from the pier in the teeth of a storm.A rival crew's deal collapsing without a shot fired.A buyer in Busan swearing he'd seen a shadow with Russian eyes.
The System's overlay tagged the chatter as background noise — but Mitya knew better. Noise had a way of becoming signal.
Anya's Questions
He found Anya outside the hospital, her braid damp from the morning mist. She was on a break, sipping tea from a paper cup.
"You've been gone," she said, not accusing, just stating.
"Work," he replied.
"What kind of work keeps you out in storms and brings you back with that look?"
"What look?"
"The one people have when they've been somewhere they can't talk about."
He tried to smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You're imagining things."
She didn't press, but her gaze lingered on him as if she were memorizing the shape of his lies.
Volkov's Trap
In an office across the city, Colonel Volkov was setting bait.A shipment — small, valuable, and deliberately under‑protected — was scheduled to pass through Pier 6. The manifest was leaked in the right places, just enough to draw the attention of anyone with reach.
"If our ghost is real," Volkov told her aide, "he won't be able to resist."
Sable's Angle
That evening, Sable called."There's a package coming through Pier 6 tomorrow. Easy pickings. Interested?"
Mitya's HUD lit up with the manifest before Sable even finished speaking. The System flagged it as high probability: counter‑intelligence operation.
"Not my style," Mitya said.
"Since when do you turn down easy money?"
"Since I learned nothing's easy."
Sable chuckled. "Suit yourself. But if you're not there, someone else will be."
The Decision
That night, Mitya sat in the Cleanroom, the white emptiness stretching around him. The System replayed the Pier 6 manifest in perfect detail.
Operator: Engagement not recommended. Risk: entrapment.
He closed the file. The city was listening, and so was someone else. The trick wasn't just to stay ahead — it was to know when not to move at all.