"Got it," he muttered, nodding.
His hands gripped the wheel tighter, the worn faux leather creaking under his palms. The taxi eased forward as the traffic light blinked green and slipped smoothly into the flow of traffic, keeping three or four cars between them and the target.
The engine purred a little louder, but the driver was careful, no sudden jerks, no honks.
The city at night was different.
More honest. More exposed.
By day it hid behind the chaos of shop windows, crowds, and flashing billboards promising everything under the sun.
But now, in the pre-dawn hours, it showed its true face: gray concrete walls rising into the sky, the yellow glow of streetlamps casting long shadows across wet asphalt.
Rare cars gliding through the streets like shadows looking for cover. Neon signs fading, leaving only a dull echo behind.
The air carried the smell of rain mixed with exhaust fumes and the faint, distant aroma of coffee drifting from all-night diners.
Ethan felt it all on his skin,the cold breeze slipping through the cracked window, the faint vibration under his feet from passing trucks.
The sedan moved confidently, no sudden turns, no hesitation, as though the driver knew every curve of the road by heart.
Ethan watched without blinking, fingers curling into fists. His heart beat steady,too steady,like the moment before a cliff jump, when adrenaline hasn't yet flooded the bloodstream but the body is already braced for the fall.
Anna's words echoed in his head:
"He is the heart of the entire system."
Corvin wasn't just a man. He was a web strangling the city, and Ethan was walking along its threads, risking getting tangled himself.
In his jacket pocket lay Maria's notebook,small, worn, filled with her neat handwriting on yellowed pages.
He could feel its weight even through the fabric, as though it weren't just paper but a piece of her heart left to him as an inheritance.
"I'm going after him," Ethan thought, running his finger along the edge of the pocket.
"I'm going where you went. If this is a trap, fine. But I won't stop."
"He's turning," the driver murmured as the sedan's blinker flashed and it veered right onto a narrow side street.
The taxi followed the maneuver gently, neither falling behind nor closing the gap. The roads grew narrower, the houses taller, the fences more massive, topped with wrought-iron spikes as though guarding ancient secrets.
No neon signs here, just the dim light of sparse lamps and the rustle of leaves in gardens behind high walls. The air changed, growing colder, laced with the dampness of the nearby river and the faint scent of wilting roses.
A few minutes later the sedan turned toward the gates of an enormous mansion, black, wrought-iron, bearing a crest shaped like a drop of blood. The taxi stopped a block away, in the shadow of an old oak whose branches hung over the road like clawed paws.
"Can't go any farther," the driver said, switching off the headlights.
"Cameras everywhere. Guards too.
I don't want trouble."
Ethan silently handed over the remaining cash, crumpled bills he'd swept from the front seat.
They rustled quietly, like autumn leaves.
"Keep the change," he added, already opening the door.
Cold air rushed in, bringing the smell of wet earth and distant fireplace smoke.
The driver nodded without meeting his eyes. The car pulled away and vanished into the darkness almost immediately, leaving only the fading echo of the engine.
Tall trees around the mansion rustled dry branches in the light wind, while the lamps at the gates cast a soft amber glow, throwing shadows across the gravel driveway.
The house looked old, not just old, but ancient, as though it had grown out of the ground rather than been built by human hands.
Darkened stone walls cracked and moss-covered, tall windows with heavy curtains, balconies with wrought-iron railings twisting in intricate patterns that resembled networks of veins.
Ethan crossed the street, stepping lightly so the gravel wouldn't crunch under his boots. He found a shadow between two houses oppositeсю, a narrow passage cluttered with old crates and trash.
He climbed the fire escape to the second floor of the abandoned building. The rusted steps creaked faintly, but he froze, listening.
No one heard.
The window had been broken long ago; shattered glass had fallen inward, leaving a jagged opening.
He climbed inside, feeling dust settle on his jacket, the smell of dampness and rotting wood wrapping around his nostrils.
The room was empty,only peeling, water-stained wallpaper and a floor littered with chunks of plaster.
Perfect for observation.
He pulled the binoculars from his backpack,the pair Flash had once given him "just in case."
He approached the window slowly,very slowly, pressing himself against the wall so his silhouette wouldn't give him away.
The sedan was already parked at the mansion's entrance, engine ticking as it cooled. The car door opened silently, and Corvin stepped out. Even from a distance he moved… differently.
Too smoothly, too confidently, like a predator who knew the prey wasn't going anywhere.
In a black overcoat with the collar turned up against the wind, he ascended the steps. The mansion door opened before he even reached it, someone inside greeting him, invisible in the shadows.
Corvin disappeared into the house, and the door closed with a heavy sigh that echoed through the garden.
Ethan swallowed, feeling his throat go dry. He shifted the binoculars upward, to the second floor. Third window on the right.
A dim, reddish light burned inside, like from a fireplace. The curtains were parted just enough, about the width of a hand for him to peer in.