# Seven Elephants

Игорь Патанин

An enthralling psychological thriller, where the investigation of a sixteen-year-old girl's disappearance leads to the exposure of a sinister global conspiracy.

This tense novel draws the reader into a dark world where the line between mind control and free will becomes increasingly thin, and questions about what shapes our identity take on a literal, frightening meaning.

"Seven Elephants" is a story about the resilience of the human spirit in the face of those who believe they have the right to rewrite others' destinies, creating their own perfect collection of human souls.

Chapter 1: Shattered Happiness

The blue glass elephant swayed in Elena Andreevna's trembling fingers, catching and refracting the dim light of the office. Detective Anna Sviridova found herself admiring how blue flickers danced across the walls—as if pieces of sky had penetrated this room saturated with grief and fear.

"Sofi brought it from summer camp last year," Elena Andreevna's voice, hoarse from tears, broke the silence. "She said, 'Mom, can you believe it? Just one more left. One more elephant—and we'll have happiness.' Someone had told her about the seven elephants…"

Anna glanced at her watch: 3:40 PM. Outside, a fine November drizzle was falling, turning the streets into mirrors reflecting the gray sky. Two weeks. It had been exactly two weeks since sixteen-year-old Sophia Velichko never made it to school.

"Tell me once more how that morning went," Anna tried to speak gently, though everything inside her tightened at the realization that this woman would be reliving the worst day of her life for the tenth time.

Elena Andreevna slowly placed the elephant on the table. Its trunk pointed toward the door, as if showing a path to salvation that could no longer exist.

"I saw her off as usual. Sofi wore her new jacket—white, with a hood. I even thought: maybe it's too light-colored for autumn? But she was so happy about that jacket… We hugged at the doorstep, and I wished her a good day. She smiled and said, 'I love you, Mom.' Just said it, for no reason…"

Elena Andreevna fell silent, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles on her skirt. Anna knew the hardest part was coming.

"At 7:38, I checked the app. We always tracked each other through a special mobile application; we had agreed to it after the threats began. Sofi wasn't where… she wasn't where she was supposed to be at all. I messaged her…"

"Through a messenger app?" Anna clarified, though she already knew the answer. She had read this detail in the reports dozens of times.

"Yes. I just asked, 'Where are you?' She replied, 'In class.' But I could see… I could see she was somewhere else. I called her homeroom teacher—Sofi wasn't at school. She never skipped classes, never! And then… I immediately knew that what we had feared all this time had happened."

Anna pulled a photograph from the folder: a gray Toyota Camry without license plates, captured by a surveillance camera at the intersection of Spring and School Streets. The timestamp on the image: 7:35.

"You mentioned that Viktor Mikhailovich sold his car a month ago?"

"Yes, a black BMW. He said business wasn't going well, that he needed money. I thought it was strange at the time. He always claimed everything was excellent…"

Elena Andreevna suddenly froze, staring at the photograph. Her fingers reached for the elephant again but stopped halfway.

"That car… I've seen it before. Several times, near our house. I thought it belonged to one of the new neighbors…"

Anna made a note in her notebook. Another detail for the collection of evidence showing that Sophia's abduction wasn't a spontaneous decision.

"Tell me about the cameras you found in your apartment."

Elena Andreevna flinched as if struck. "I discovered the first one by accident. I was changing the shower curtain, and it fell out—so small and black. Then I started looking deliberately. I found three more: in the bedroom, in the hallway, and in the kitchen. And voice recorders… There were voice recorders everywhere. He knew every word we said, every step we took. And I… I never noticed…"

There was a knock at the door. Major Sergei Dorokhov, Anna's partner, appeared in the doorway. His face didn't bode well.

"Sorry to interrupt. Anna Vitalyevna, could I have a word?"

Anna apologized to Elena Andreevna and stepped into the corridor. Dorokhov handed her a folder marked "Top Secret."

"Just came in from Tver. You were right—this isn't the first time."

Anna opened the folder and shuddered. From a twenty-year-old photograph, a young Viktor Mikhailovich Astakhov looked back at her. Except back then, his name was different—Viktor Rogov. And by that time, he already had the murder of a fifteen-year-old girl behind him.

Returning to the office, Anna saw that Elena Andreevna remained sitting, frozen like a statue, tears rolling down her cheeks. The blue elephant continued casting reflections on the walls, but now they seemed like fragments of shattered happiness.

"Elena Andreevna," Anna called softly. "I have more questions. About Viktor Mikhailovich's past. It's important."

The woman slowly raised her head. "You know, he once told Sofi: 'When we find the seventh elephant, we'll make our most important wish.' And now I think: maybe he already knew? Knew that there would never be a seventh elephant…"

Outside, the rain intensified, beating an irregular, uneven rhythm on the windowsill. Anna looked at her watch: 4:20 PM. The time that had forever divided this family's life into "before" and "after."

## Chapter 2: Shadows of the Past

The old folders smelled of dust and time. Anna carefully turned the yellowed pages of the twenty-year-old case file, trying not to damage the fragile sheets. The Tver Police Department archives reluctantly shared their secrets.

"I remember this case," Mikhail Stepanovich Granin, former special investigator, now retired, lowered himself heavily into the chair opposite her. His once-black hair had turned completely gray, but his eyes retained the keen, attentive gaze of a professional. "Some things you never forget. Fifteen-year-old Katya Voronova. Good student, studied music. Disappeared on her way home from music school."

Anna took out Sophia Velichko's photograph. Granin studied the girl's face for a long time, then sighed heavily.

"They look alike. God, how similar they are… Blonde, smiling. He always chose similar ones."

"Tell me how you tracked him down back then."

Mikhail Stepanovich closed his eyes, as if watching scenes from an old film.

"Viktor Rogov appeared in Tver six months before it happened. He got a job as a teacher at the music school—piano class. Brilliant education, excellent recommendations. All the documents… later we discovered the documents were forged. Perfectly done, but forged."

Anna made a note in her notebook. History was repeating itself—an impeccable cover story, meticulously planned preparation.

"He behaved flawlessly," Granin continued. "Colleagues described him as a talented teacher. Parents were delighted. Katya… she was one of his best students. She was preparing for a competition. Rogov volunteered to give her additional lessons."

"How did he become a suspect in the case?"

"Chance. Pure chance. One of the students saw Katya getting into Rogov's car that evening. The boy didn't think anything of it—maybe the teacher was just giving his student a ride home. He only remembered a week later when missing person posters went up all over the city."

Granin stood and walked to the window. Outside, the same dreary November rain continued to drizzle.

"You know what the most frightening thing was? Not the signs of violence, not how he tried to cover up the crime. The most frightening thing was his calmness during interrogations. Absolute, soul-freezing calmness. He talked about what happened as if he were describing an ordinary music lesson."

Anna pulled another document from the folder—a forensic psychiatric evaluation from twenty years ago.

"Fully sane. No signs of mental disorders," she quoted.

"Yes," Granin nodded. "But you know what's interesting? His lawyer insisted on a second evaluation. Claimed his client had a split personality. And the psychiatrist… the second psychiatrist almost believed it. Rogov knew how to be convincing. He played to the audience masterfully."

"Just like now," Anna said quietly.

"What?"

"His lawyer is again demanding a psychiatric evaluation. Claims his client suffers from a personality disorder. That he wasn't aware of his actions…"

Granin turned sharply toward her: "Don't let him slip off the hook. Last time he only got eight years. Eight years for a murdered girl, for a destroyed family! And then—early release for good behavior. And now—a new victim."

Anna approached the window, standing next to Granin. A pigeon sat on the windowsill, huddled against the rain.

"Tell me," she hesitated, choosing her words. "Back then… did you notice anything unusual in his apartment? Any strange items or objects?"

"Ah, you mean that…" Granin smiled sadly. "The collection of porcelain elephants. Six of them. During the interrogation, he said he was waiting for the seventh—for complete happiness. We decided it was just a coincidence. Strange, but a coincidence."

Anna was pierced by a sharp sense of foreboding.

"What happened to those elephants?"

"They were included in the case as material evidence. Later, when the case was closed, they should have been destroyed. But…" Granin faltered. "I kept them. All these years, I've kept them. As a reminder that evil can hide behind the most innocent mask."

"I need to see them," Anna said firmly.

Granin nodded: "I knew you would say that. They're at my home. Let's go."

Leaving the archive, Anna cast a final glance at the photograph of young Rogov. The man who had transformed an innocent legend about seven elephants into a terrible tale of shattered lives.

And the rain kept pouring down, washing away traces of the past, but not the memory of it.

## Chapter 3: Broken Glass

Mikhail Stepanovich's apartment was in an old building on the outskirts of town. Anna climbed the creaking staircase, feeling each step echo through the hollow stairwell. Somewhere above, a dim light bulb flickered, casting uneven shadows on the walls.

"Come in," Granin opened the massive door. "Just be careful—I haven't cleaned in here for a long time."

Anna looked around. The small apartment was crowded with bookshelves. Photographs of various people hung on the walls, along with newspaper clippings and maps covered with notations. The typical dwelling of an old-school investigator who had never been able to leave his work in the past.

"They're here," Granin approached an old secretary desk and took a key from his pocket. "I haven't opened this drawer in twenty years."

The lock clicked reluctantly, as if resisting the intrusion into the past. On a velvet lining, faded with time, stood six porcelain elephants. White, with gold detailing.

"My God," Anna exhaled, taking out her phone. "They're identical."

"What?"

"The elephants in Elena Andreevna's apartment. The same series, the same manufacturer. Only a different color—blue."

Granin sank heavily into an armchair: "So it really is him. The same signature, the same game."

Anna carefully picked up one of the elephants. On the bottom was a barely visible inscription: "Imperial Porcelain Factory, 1994."

"Did you track his whereabouts after his release?" she asked, her gaze fixed on the figurine.

"I tried. He disappeared. Vanished. Now it's clear why—he was creating a new identity."

Anna's phone vibrated. A message from Dorokhov: "Come urgently."

"I need to go," she carefully placed the elephant back in its spot. "May I come back later…"

"Come anytime," Granin interrupted her. "And be careful. He doesn't like when someone gets too close to his secrets."

The rain had stopped, but the streets still glistened with water. Anna got into her car and turned on the navigation system. It would take about twenty minutes to reach headquarters.

Her memory helpfully conjured an image from the past. Ten years ago. Her first case of a missing child. They hadn't made it in time then. That's when she had sworn to herself that never again…

The ringing phone pulled her from her memories.

"Anna Vitalyevna?" Elena Andreevna's voice trembled. "There's… there's some package that arrived. From him."

"Don't touch it! Don't touch anything, I'm coming right now."

"It's too late. I already opened it. There's an elephant inside. The seventh elephant, Anna Vitalyevna. And a note…"

"What note? What does it say?"

"Now the collection is complete. It's a shame there's no one left to make a wish."

Anna sharply turned the car around.

"Don't go anywhere. I'm on my way to you."

She called headquarters while driving.

"Dorokhov? Send a team to Elena Andreevna's house. And find out how the hell he's managing to send packages from the detention center!"

The navigation showed eleven minutes to her destination. Anna turned on the siren. Every second counted now.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed some movement in the rearview mirror. A gray Toyota Camry. The same one.

"Dorokhov," she grabbed her phone again. "We have a problem. I think there were multiple perpetrators."

Elena Andreevna's building came into view. A patrol car was already parked by the entrance.

And in the apartment on the fifth floor, on the shelf among six blue elephants stood the seventh. White, with gold detailing. Exactly like those kept in Granin's secretary desk.

History was repeating itself. But this time, Anna wasn't planning to lose. Even if victory meant confronting her own demons from the past.

## Chapter 4: Web of Lies

The seventh elephant lay in an evidence bag. The white porcelain seemed inappropriately bright under the harsh light of the forensic lab.

"No fingerprints," expert Klimov rubbed his tired eyes. "Whoever sent the package was wearing gloves. But here's what's interesting—the marking on the bottom is the same as the elephants from the old case. Imperial Porcelain Factory, 1994."

"He's been collecting them," Anna said quietly. "All these years, he's been collecting them."

In the adjacent interrogation room sat Elena Andreevna. She had agreed to recount once more how her relationship with Viktor had developed. Every detail could prove important.

"Start recording," Anna nodded to Dorokhov, turning on the voice recorder.

"He appeared in our social circle two years ago," Elena Andreevna automatically adjusted the collar of her blouse. "A mutual friend introduced him as a successful businessman from Moscow. Viktor… he knew how to make an impression. Always impeccably dressed, educated, with excellent manners."

"Tell me about the first warning signs."

"You know what's strange? Looking back now, I can see them. But then… then he could explain everything. Any oddity, any inconsistency." She paused. "For instance, the story about his past. He never showed photographs, never told specific stories. Just general phrases: 'when I lived in Moscow,' 'I had a business.' And if I asked for details, he skillfully changed the subject."

Anna made a note in her notebook. Typical behavior for someone with a false identity.

"And then the elephants appeared," Elena Andreevna continued. "He noticed Sofi's collection and became so enthusiastic. He told her the legend about seven elephants bringing happiness. Sofi became excited about collecting all seven. And he… he encouraged it. Now I understand—it was part of his game."

"How did he interact with Sophia?"

"Perfectly. Too perfectly, you understand? He took interest in her studies, helped her with English. Once I found them talking about music—he was describing classical composers, and Sofi was listening, completely captivated. Back then, I thought: how fortunate that my daughter has such a wonderful stepfather…"

Elena Andreevna fell silent, clenching her fists so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

"When did the calls begin?"

"After I threw him out. At first, they were normal calls—he apologized, asked for forgiveness. Then he started calling at night. Silent calls. And then… then I found the first camera."

There was a knock at the door. A young officer handed Anna a folder.

"The forensic results."

Anna opened the folder, quickly scanning the lines. She froze.

"Elena Andreevna, have you ever heard the name Andrei Savelyev?"

"No, who is…"

"What about the surname Rogov? Did Viktor ever mention this name?"

"No, never. What's happening?"

Anna placed a photograph in front of her: three men standing in front of a gray Toyota Camry. In the center—a young Viktor Rogov.

"This picture is twenty years old. On the right is Andrei Savelyev. The same person whose car was used in Sophia's abduction."

"And the third man?" Elena Andreevna's voice trembled.

"We haven't identified the third one yet. But there's something else."

Rapid footsteps sounded in the corridor. Dorokhov burst into the room.

"Just got a call from the detention center. Viktor is demanding a lawyer. Says he's ready to testify."

"About what?"

"About another murder. One that wasn't solved twenty years ago."

Elena Andreevna went pale. "What murder are you talking about?"

Anna gathered the papers into the folder. "Dorokhov, take Elena Andreevna home. And make sure there's a patrol unit by her building. I'm going to the detention center."

At the doorway, she turned back: "And find me everything you can about Andrei Savelyev. Especially for the last two years."

The story was growing more complex. The web spun by Viktor turned out to be larger and more terrifying than they had suspected. And somewhere in this web, the third person from the photograph still lurked.

## Chapter 5: Confession

The gray walls of the detention center felt oppressive. Anna sat in the interrogation room, staring at her own reflection in the one-way mirror. Over her years of service, she had encountered many criminals, but now she felt an inexplicable anxiety. Something about this case wasn't right, as if they were seeing only the tip of the iceberg.

The door clanged open. Two guards brought in Viktor Mikhailovich. In his gray prison uniform, he seemed smaller, paler, but his gaze remained the same—piercing, studying. He sat down across from her, carefully placing his hands on the table. The handcuffs clinked quietly.

"I've been waiting for you," his voice sounded calm, almost friendly. "I knew that sooner or later you'd find the connection. You've been to see Granin, haven't you? Seen his collection?"

Anna silently turned on the recorder. Viktor smiled—the same smile she had seen in old photographs.

"Do you know the mistake all investigators make? They look for motive. They try to understand 'why.' But sometimes there is no 'why.' Sometimes there's only 'what for.'"

"And what did you do it for?"

"Oh, are you talking about Katya? Or Sophia?" he leaned forward. "Or those whose bodies were never found? Like Masha Svetlova? Twenty years ago, three months before Katya Voronova. Mikhail Stepanovich didn't know about that case. It happened in another city."

Anna felt a chill run down her spine. Another victim. Another family not knowing the truth.

"Tell me about Masha."

"First about the elephants," Viktor leaned back in his chair. "You understand that it's about them, don't you? Not about the girls—about the elephants. Every collection must be completed. Every story must have an ending."

"Where is Sophia?"

"In a safe place. With a reliable person. You've seen his photograph—the third man in the picture. His name is Igor. Igor Vasilyev. Though now, he has a different surname. Just like me."

"Why are you telling us this?"

Viktor tilted his head, examining Anna like a curious exhibit. "Because the game is over. Because the seventh elephant has taken its place. And because you're too late anyway."

At that moment, Dorokhov practically burst into the room. "We found remains," he gasped. "In the forest, near the old chapel. A woman."

"Not a woman," Viktor gently corrected. "A girl. Masha Svetlova. I did promise to tell you about another murder."

Anna stood up abruptly. "Where is Sophia?"

"Well, that," Viktor smiled again, "depends on how quickly you solve the riddle. You know, each elephant has its own story. And each story has its own elephant. White ones for those who have found peace. Blue ones for those who are still waiting."

"Take him away," Anna ordered the guards. At the doorway, Viktor turned back: "Give my regards to Mikhail Stepanovich. Tell him his collection will soon be complete too."

When the door closed behind him, Anna turned to Dorokhov: "Check on Granin immediately. And find everything you can about Igor Vasilyev."

"Already done," Dorokhov handed her a folder. "Igor Vasilyev is now known as Igor Sokolov. He works as a teacher. At the very same school Sophia attended."

Anna felt the ground disappear from under her feet. All these months he had been nearby. Watching. Waiting.

"And another thing," added Dorokhov. "They found a collection of elephants in his office. Green ones. Seven of them."

Outside, the rain was starting again. Somewhere in the city, a physical education teacher named Igor Sokolov was completing his collection. And time was relentlessly slipping away, taking with it the hope of saving Sophia.

Viktor was right. Every story must have an ending. But what ending would this one have?

## Chapter 6: The Green Elephant

The physical education office greeted Anna with stale air and the smell of dust. On Igor Sokolov's desk was perfect order: journals in a neat stack, a class schedule in a tidy frame, photographs of sporting events on the wall. And a shelf with elephants.

"Are these definitely the same ones?" Dorokhov carefully picked up one of the figurines.

"Yes," Anna checked against a photograph on her phone. "Imperial Porcelain Factory, the same series. Only green."

Seven elephants stood in a row, as if preparing for a parade. Impeccably clean, without a speck of dust. Behind them on the wall—certificates, letters of appreciation, photographs from competitions. The ordinary life of a school teacher.

"Have you found anything?" the school principal, Valentina Petrovna, appeared in the doorway. A small woman with a tired face and a keen gaze.

"How long has he been working here?" Anna continued examining the photographs.

"This is his third year. He came with excellent recommendations. The children adored him, especially the girls. He conducted additional self-defense classes…"

"For free?" Anna clarified.

"Yes, he said it was his calling—helping children feel safe."

Anna approached the cabinet and opened the door. Sports uniforms, whistles, a stopwatch. And a small notebook, lost among the papers.

"May I?" she showed the notebook to the principal. She nodded.

Anna put on gloves and opened the first page. Neat handwriting, dates, names. Training records? No. Something else.

"Sophia V. Favorite color—blue. Afraid of the dark. Always takes the same route. Loves mint ice cream."

Next page: "Katya V. Plays the piano. Pink unicorn backpack. Music school on Tuesdays and Thursdays."

"Masha S. collects badges. Lives with grandmother. Dreams of becoming an artist."

"Dorokhov," Anna's voice faltered. "Check all these names. Every girl."

"Already on it," another officer appeared in the doorway. "In his computer—an entire database. Photographs, schedules, routes. He was tracking all of them."

"And nobody noticed?" Anna turned to the principal. "Nobody paid attention?"

"To what?" Valentina Petrovna threw up her hands in confusion. "That a teacher takes interest in his students' lives? That he helps them, supports them? We thought he was just… a good person."

Anna's phone rang. Granin.

"Come quickly," the old investigator's voice sounded hollow. "Someone's been in my apartment. The elephants… they're gone. All six."

Anna exchanged glances with Dorokhov. "I'm sending a team. Don't touch anything."

"Wait," the principal suddenly grabbed Anna's arm. "Yesterday… yesterday Igor brought a box of chocolates to the teachers' lounge. Said it was his birthday. And this morning he didn't come to work. For the first time in three years."

"Where does he live?"

"In the teachers' dormitory. But he's not there either. And his phone isn't answering."

"Anna Vitalyevna!" a young officer ran up to them. "Look what we found in his locker in the changing room."

He handed Anna a plastic bag. Inside were three red porcelain elephants—exactly like the green ones on the shelf.

"And that's not all," the officer placed a school register on the table. "Look at these markings."

Anna opened the register. Next to some names were colored dots: blue, green, red.

"Red dots—next to the names of three girls from Sophia's parallel class," explained the officer.

"Check on these girls. Immediately," Anna ordered, feeling everything inside her tighten with anxiety.

"Also, we found documents in his home," the officer continued. "In the name of… Igor Vasilyev."

"Vasilyev?" Anna frowned. "The same one? From Tver?"

"Yes. Among the documents—letters of recommendation from the music school in Tver, dated twenty years earlier."

Anna picked up one of the green elephants from the shelf, carefully examining the porcelain figurine. What did these colors mean? Why had Sokolov so meticulously marked children in his lists?

"Dorokhov," she carefully put the elephant back in place. "I need all information about Sokolov's connections. Phone calls, correspondence, meetings. Especially with Viktor Rogov. And check everyone who signed his recommendations."

"Already working on it."

Another officer appeared in the doorway.

"Anna Vitalyevna, they called from the detention center. Viktor Rogov is demanding to see you. Says he's ready to testify."

"About what?"

"About Sophia. And about where to find her."

Anna gathered the documents into a folder.

"Dorokhov, check all psychological centers and clinics in the city. Especially those that work with children."

"Why psychological centers specifically?"

"Intuition," Anna headed for the exit. "And one more thing—find out if Sophia or Elena Andreevna underwent any psychological therapy in recent years."

In the car, Anna reviewed photographs of Sokolov's office. Cabinet, desk, shelf with elephants… In one of the photographs on the wall, she noticed a small framed picture: Sokolov with a group of children. And next to him—a middle-aged man in a formal suit. Something in his face seemed familiar to Anna, but she couldn't place where she had seen him.

Anna sent the photo to Dorokhov with a note: "Find out who this person is next to Sokolov." Then she started the car and drove to the detention center.

The story was becoming increasingly complex. The trail led into the past, to Tver, to that same case from twenty years ago. But now Anna felt that something greater was involved than simply repeating an old scenario. Something systematic, calculated, almost… professional.

And in Sokolov's office, seven green porcelain elephants on the shelf continued to keep their secrets. Secrets whose unraveling could cost the lives of not only Sophia Velichko, but also other children whose names were marked with colored dots in the register.

Chapter 7: In Darkness

The first thing Sophia felt upon regaining consciousness was the cold. A piercing, damp cold that numbed her fingers and caught her breath. She tried to move, but her body refused to obey, as if it were someone else's. Her thoughts were tangled and blurred, like drawings on a fogged-up window.

"Where am I?" The question hung silently in the darkness. Her eyes gradually adjusted to the absence of light. Shadows. Silhouettes. Some objects around her.

Sophia strained her memory. The last thing she remembered was walking to school. The white jacket. Mom's "Have a good day." And then… a gray car? A man asking for directions? After that—emptiness.

She tried to sit up. Her head spun, nausea rose in her throat. She managed it anyway. She felt the surface beneath her—a hard bed with a metal frame. A sheet, blanket, pillow. Next to it—a small table. Something stood on it.

Sophia reached out and felt cold porcelain. A small statuette. Running her fingers over the smooth surface, she recognized the shape—an elephant. Just like the ones she collected at home. Only this one was… What color was it? Impossible to tell in the darkness.

Her heart beat faster. "Viktor? Is he the one who took me?" The thought burned through her consciousness. Or was it someone else?

Somewhere in the distance, footsteps were heard. Firm, measured—someone was approaching. Sophia froze, clutching the porcelain figurine in her hand. The footsteps stopped outside a door that she couldn't yet make out in the darkness. The sound of a key in the lock. Creaking hinges.

A silhouette appeared in the doorway. The light came on—dim, yellowish, but after complete darkness, it seemed blinding. Sophia squinted, and when she opened her eyes, she saw a man in a formal dark suit before her.

"Good morning, Sophia," the voice sounded gentle, almost friendly. "How are you feeling?"

She didn't answer, continuing to grip the elephant in her hand. The man was tall, with gray temples and a neat beard. Glasses in thin frames. His gaze was attentive, studying. In his hands—a folder with some papers.

"My name is Doctor Berkut. Alexander Viktorovich. I'm here to help you."

"Where am I?" Sophia's voice sounded hoarse, as if she hadn't spoken for several days.

"In a safe place," he smiled reservedly. "A temporary shelter until we prepare something more… suitable for you."

The man came closer and sat on a chair near the bed. His gaze fell on the statuette in the girl's hand.

"I see you've already met our little friend," he nodded at the elephant. "You know what's interesting? This elephant is green. The color of hope. The color of the future."

Sophia looked at the figurine. In the lamplight, the porcelain indeed had a soft green hue, like young spring grass.

"Why am I here?" she tried to speak firmly, but her voice trembled.

"Oh, that's the right question," Berkut opened the folder. "You're here because you're special, Sophia. You passed the selection. You deserve to be part of something greater than an ordinary life."

He took a photograph from the folder and placed it before her. In the picture, Sophia was in the schoolyard, laughing, with books in her hands. Next to it were several more photographs: Sophia with her mother, Sophia near her house, Sophia in physical education class.

"We've been watching you for a long time," Berkut continued. "And others like you. Special children who deserve a better future."

"My mom will look for me," Sophia tried to make her voice sound confident. "And the police are already searching."

"Undoubtedly," he smiled again, this time sincerely. "Your mom is a wonderful woman. Elena Andreevna, right? She's very worried. But unfortunately, she's looking in the wrong places. As is the police."

Berkut stood and approached the door.

"Rest, Sophia. Dinner will be soon. And then… we'll begin preparing you."

"For what?"

"For a new life," he turned at the doorway. "For the role you'll play in our little… collection."

The door closed. The lock clicked. The light remained on, and now Sophia could look around. A small room with concrete walls. A bed, table, chair. A small window near the ceiling, barred and covered with thick fabric—not even a hint of daylight penetrated through it. In the corner—a door, probably leading to a bathroom.

Sophia looked again at the green elephant in her hand. And only now did she notice. On the base of the figurine was an inscription, scratched with a thin sharp object: "Don't trust. Run. K."

Her heart beat faster. Who was K? And what were they warning about?

Outside, the rain was making noise. Somewhere in the corridor, muffled voices could be heard.


The steel door of the isolation cell closed behind Anna with a heavy clang. Viktor Rogov, also known as Viktor Mikhailovich Astakhov, sat at a metal table, his hands bound by handcuffs attached to the tabletop. When Anna entered, he raised his head and smiled slightly.

"I knew you would come," his voice sounded calm, almost relaxed. "Once you learned about Igor's escape, you'd want to talk to me."

"How do you know about his escape?" Anna sat opposite him, carefully studying the prisoner's face.

"We're connected, detective. Much more deeply than you can imagine," Viktor leaned forward. "Igor, me, others… we are all instruments in someone else's hands."

"Whose?"

"In the hands of someone who possesses the art of turning people into obedient puppets. The Doctor, as he calls himself," Viktor smirked. "But in reality, he's more of a sculptor. He breaks people into pieces and reassembles them however he wants."

Anna took out her notebook and made a note.

"Are you talking about a specific person?"

"About Doctor Berkut. Alexander Viktorovich. A psychiatrist, specialist in child psychology. And a master of reprogramming consciousness," Viktor said this almost with admiration. "He found Igor and me when we were teenagers. Troubled teenagers, as they called us then. And he made us… different."

"Is Sophia with him? Did he take her?"

Viktor nodded.

"She's special. He's been watching her for a long time. Through me, through Igor… We were his eyes. I was supposed to infiltrate her life through her mother. Become a family friend."

"Why? What does Berkut want?"

"He's a collector, detective," Viktor looked her straight in the eyes. "But not in the usual sense. He doesn't collect things. He collects personalities. Souls. And each such soul is marked with its own elephant."

"The elephants of different colors… do they mean something?"

"Everything means something," Viktor leaned back in his chair. "White ones are for those who have found eternal peace. Blue ones are for those who are still waiting their turn. Green ones are for those preparing for transformation. Red ones…"

He fell silent, turning away. Something flashed in his eyes—fear? regret?

"What do the red elephants signify?" Anna asked insistently.

"Red ones are for those who have already become part of the collection. Who have gone through the entire transformation process. Like me. Like Igor," he raised his eyes. "But soon there will be more of them. Many more."

"Where is Berkut keeping Sophia?"

Viktor shook his head.

"I don't know exactly. He never reveals all his cards. But he has several places for… processing. Special places where he conducts his experiments. One of them is the basement in his country house. Another is a former sanatorium somewhere in the forest. He called it his 'laboratory.'"

"Do you know the address?"

"No. They took me there blindfolded. But I remember that the journey took about two hours."

Anna made another note in her notebook, then looked up at Viktor.

"Why are you telling me this? Why now?"

Viktor smiled—a sad, almost human smile.

"Because something went wrong. Here," he tapped his temple with his finger. "His control isn't absolute. Sometimes… sometimes glimpses of my real self break through the programming. And in those moments, I hate what he's made me into."

"You said you went through this transformation… What did Berkut do to you?"

"First—drugs. Special injections that make the mind pliable, like clay. Then—sessions of suggestion. For hours, days. A voice in the darkness telling you who you are, who you should be. And gradually… you start to believe it. The old personality is erased, a new one is written over it. Like on magnetic tape."

"And this is irreversible?"

"Almost," Viktor smirked again. "But sometimes the tape wears out. There are… interferences."

Anna gathered her papers, preparing to leave.

"If you remember anything else—an address, names of Berkut's accomplices, other details—report it immediately."

Viktor nodded. When Anna was already at the door, he called out to her:

"Detective! Be careful. He's not just a criminal. He's… a creator of monsters."

Leaving the detention center, Anna immediately called Dorokhov.

"I need everything available on Doctor Alexander Viktorovich Berkut. And check all psychological centers and clinics in the city, especially those working with children and teenagers."

"Already on it," Dorokhov's voice sounded excited. "We have something interesting. A psychological center called 'New Life,' very prestigious. And guess who runs it?"

"Berkut," Anna was already getting into her car. "I'll be there in twenty minutes. Gather everything you can find: the center's history, list of employees, patients. And check if Sophia Velichko was ever their client."

"Already checking. But there's something else—a woman came to us. Says she has information on the case. Claims she knows Viktor Rogov and Igor Sokolov. Or rather, Igor Vasilyev, as he was previously called."

Anna froze with the ignition key in her hand.

"Who is she?"

"Klavdia Mikhailovna Petrova. A former music teacher from Tver. You need to hear this, Anna."

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

In the rearview mirror, the detention center flashed by—a gray building, behind whose walls she had left a man who was simultaneously a criminal and a victim. A monster and a puppet.

And somewhere in the city, in an unknown location, Doctor Alexander Berkut was preparing to turn Sophia Velichko into the same kind of puppet. And the time to save her was running out.

Chapter 8: Mosaic of Consciousness

The police headquarters greeted Anna with the muffled hum of voices and ringing phones. Dorokhov intercepted her in the corridor.

"Klavdia Mikhailovna is waiting for you in the third office. Meanwhile, I've prepared information on the 'New Life' center," he handed her a folder. "Everything we could find."

"I'll speak with the woman first," Anna nodded, taking the folder. "Then we'll look into the center together."

In the interrogation room sat a middle-aged woman with a tired face and wary eyes. When Anna entered, she stood up, nervously clutching a worn bag.

"Hello. I'm Klavdia Mikhailovna Petrova."

"Anna Sviridova, investigating officer in Sophia Velichko's case," Anna shook her hand. "My colleague said you knew Igor Sokolov and Viktor Rogov?"

"Yes. Except back then, Igor was called Vasilyev. Igor Vasilyev. I worked with them at the music school in Tver twenty years ago. I taught violin," she paused. "When I saw the news about the missing girl and Sokolov's photograph… I realized everything was happening again."

"Tell me from the beginning," Anna took out her notebook.

Klavdia Mikhailovna took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts.

"Tver, 2004. Glinka Music School. I had been working there for several years when new teachers appeared. Viktor Rogov—piano class, Igor Vasilyev—physical education and choreography. Both young, talented. The children adored them."

"And what happened?"

"At first, nothing special. Regular work, concerts, lessons. But then a new school psychologist appeared—Doctor Alexander Berkut," Klavdia Mikhailovna swallowed nervously. "He very quickly became close with Viktor and Igor. They often stayed after classes, talking about something. Sometimes until late at night."

"You were eavesdropping?"

"Not intentionally. I just sometimes stayed late, preparing students for competitions. And I began to notice… oddities."

"What kind specifically?"

"Berkut conducted some kind of experimental sessions with troubled teenagers. He called it 'breakthrough therapy.' Many parents noted positive changes—children became calmer, more obedient. But I saw something else too."

"What exactly?"

"Emptiness. In their eyes, in their gestures. As if something important disappeared from them," Klavdia Mikhailovna took a tattered notebook from her bag. "I began recording my observations. Here."

Anna took the notebook, flipping through the yellowed pages with neat, small handwriting. Dates, names, observations.

"This entry here," Klavdia Mikhailovna pointed to one of the pages.

"Today I saw the elephants in B's office again. White, blue, green, red, yellow, purple, orange. He said each color has its meaning. White ones for those who have found peace. Blue ones for those who are still waiting. Green ones for those who are preparing. Red ones…"

"The next page is torn out," Anna noticed.

"Yes. Berkut found out about my notes. He came to my home supposedly for a visit. Said I had an anxiety disorder. That I was seeing conspiracies. He spoke so convincingly… and prescribed me pills."

"What kind of pills?"

"I don't know exactly. Small, white ones. After taking them, I felt detached. I'd get confused about the days of the week, forget details. And one day… I discovered that pages from my notebook had disappeared."

"And then Katya Voronova went missing," Anna was stating rather than asking.

"Yes. She was Viktor's student. A talented girl. Fifteen years old. Disappeared on her way from music school. Viktor was arrested a week later," Klavdia Mikhailovna pressed her hand to her lips. "And Berkut just… vanished. In a single day. Didn't show up for work, emptied his apartment overnight. And Igor Vasilyev disappeared too."

"Did you tell the police about this?"

"I tried. But I was already taking Berkut's pills. They considered me… unstable. They decided I was upset about what happened and was inventing conspiracies."

Anna made several notes in her notebook, then looked at the woman.

"And now Berkut is here. And he's hunting again."

"Yes. I saw his photograph in the news about the 'New Life' center. He's hardly changed. And when I read about the missing girl, about suspicions against a physical education teacher… I realized it was him again. His signature."

Anna opened the folder Dorokhov had brought. On the first page—an official photograph: a distinguished man with gray temples and a penetrating gaze. Alexander Viktorovich Berkut, director of the psychological center "New Life."

"Is this him?"

Klavdia Mikhailovna paled.

"Yes. He's aged, but… it's definitely him."

"Thank you, Klavdia Mikhailovna. Your information is very important for the investigation. I need you to officially give a statement. And possibly an identification may be required."

"I'm ready to help. In any way I can. Just find that girl."

After the woman left, accompanied by an officer to give her statement, Dorokhov returned to the office.

"What do you think?" he asked, pouring coffee.

"I think we're dealing with something much more complex than an ordinary kidnapping," Anna browsed through the folder with information about the "New Life" center. "The psychological center opened fifteen years ago. Founder and director—Doctor Alexander Berkut. Brilliant reputation, scientific publications, grateful letters from parents… And all this time, he was possibly experimenting on children?"

"Sounds insane," Dorokhov shook his head. "But the evidence speaks for itself. Sokolov, formerly Vasilyev, worked with Berkut in Tver. Then Berkut disappears, Vasilyev too. And both reappear here, only under different names."

"And Viktor Rogov takes the blame for murder and serves his time," Anna continued. "Only to get out and rejoin the game. But what game is this? Why all of this?"

"Maybe it has to do with these consciousness experiments? With what Berkut does to children?"

Anna closed the folder and stood up.

"We need to check out the 'New Life' center. I'm going there now. And you…" she looked at Dorokhov. "Find out if Sophia Velichko was a patient at the center. And check who else involved in the case might be connected to Berkut."

"Already working on it," Dorokhov nodded. "And one more thing. We checked those three names from Sokolov's register marked with red dots. All three girls are patients at the 'New Life' center. Coincidence?"

"I no longer believe in coincidences," Anna headed for the door. "Keep me updated."


Sophia sat on the bed, hugging her knees, watching the door. Several hours had passed since Doctor Berkut left. During this time, she'd been brought food—simple but filling. It was brought by a young woman with an empty gaze and mechanical movements. She didn't answer any questions, just set down the tray and left.

The green elephant stood on the small table. Sophia glanced at it from time to time, as if expecting the figurine to come alive and offer advice. "Don't trust. Run. K."—who had left this message? And how could one escape from a room with a barred window and locked door?

Suddenly the door opened. Doctor Berkut stood in the doorway, with two men in white coats behind him.

"It's time to begin, Sophia," Berkut's voice sounded almost ceremonial. "The first session."

"What kind of session?" she instinctively backed up against the wall.

"Therapeutic," the doctor smiled. "Don't be afraid. It's not painful, quite the opposite."

The men approached the bed. One held a small case, the other—a syringe with clear liquid.

"No!" Sophia jumped up from the bed, trying to move away. "I don't want any injections!"

"Oh, my dear," Berkut shook his head. "This isn't an ordinary injection. This is a key. A key to the door between worlds."

Sophia tried to resist, but the forces were too unequal. In a minute, she felt an injection in her arm and warmth spreading through her body. Her consciousness blurred, the room began to spin, and the last thing she remembered before plunging into darkness was Berkut's face leaning over her and his whisper: "Welcome to our collection, number seven."


The "New Life" center occupied two floors in a modern office building in a prestigious district of the city. Stylish interior, friendly staff, an atmosphere of calm and well-being. Nothing hinted at the dark secrets that might be hiding behind the glossy facade.

"Doctor Berkut is busy with a patient," informed the administrator, a nice young woman with a perfect smile. "But if you'd like to schedule a consultation…"

"This is an official visit," Anna showed her badge. "I'll wait until he's free."

The girl's smile became strained.

"I understand. Please have a seat. I'll let Doctor Berkut know you're here."

Anna looked around. Several people sat in the waiting area: a mother with a child about ten years old, an elderly woman, a young man immersed in reading a book. On the walls—diplomas, certificates, thank-you letters. And photographs: Doctor Berkut with famous people, Doctor Berkut at scientific conferences, Doctor Berkut with groups of children of various ages.

The door of one of the offices opened, and a woman with a teenage girl emerged. Anna froze. Something in the girl's face seemed familiar. Blonde hair, serious eyes… The woman walked past, but Anna managed to notice a medical chart in her hands. On the cover—a colored sticker. A small blue circle.

A man came out of the office after them. The very same one from the photographs. Alexander Viktorovich Berkut.

"Doctor Berkut," Anna rose from her chair.

"Ah, Detective Sviridova," he smiled, extending his hand. "Maria told me you wanted to see me. Has something happened?"

His handshake was firm, his gaze open and friendly. Nothing about him suggested a person capable of the crimes Viktor and Klavdia Mikhailovna had spoken of.

"Investigation into the case of the missing girl. Sophia Velichko."

"Ah yes, I heard. A terrible story. Please, come into my office, let's talk."

Doctor Berkut's office looked exactly as a successful psychiatrist's office should: comfortable furniture, subdued lighting, bookshelves, diplomas on the walls. And not a single elephant.

"How can I help you?" Berkut sat at his desk, gesturing for Anna to take the chair opposite.

"We're establishing the circle of the missing girl's contacts. Was Sophia ever your patient?"

"No, never. I would remember that name."

"And her mother, Elena Andreevna?"

Berkut thought for a moment.

"Possibly. We have many clients. I can check the database if it's important for the investigation."

"Very important. And one more thing," Anna tried to keep her voice as neutral as possible. "Have you ever worked in Tver? At a music school?"

For a fraction of a second, Berkut's gaze changed. Something flashed in his eyes—wariness? Concern? But it immediately disappeared.

"Yes, I did. Early in my career. Tver is my hometown," he leaned back in his chair. "But that was a very long time ago. What does this have to do with your investigation?"

"Just clarifying details. Do you happen to remember a piano teacher named Viktor Rogov? Or Igor Vasilyev, a physical education instructor?"

Now the change in Berkut's face was obvious. He tensed, though he tried to hide it behind a smile.

"The names sound familiar. But, you see, that was twenty years ago. A lot of water under the bridge."

"Of course," Anna smiled back. "And what about Igor Sokolov? Was he ever connected with your center?"

"Sokolov?" Berkut frowned. "I don't recall anyone by that name. Who is he?"

"A physical education teacher at the school where Sophia Velichko studied. He's currently wanted—suspected of involvement in the girl's disappearance."

Berkut shook his head.

"I don't know him. But if he was acquainted with Sophia, perhaps she told him about her problems. Teenagers often trust teachers more than parents."

"What problems could you be referring to?" Anna became alert.

"I'm speaking hypothetically," Berkut spread his hands. "Not knowing the girl personally, I can't say anything specific. But as a specialist, I can suggest that if she became a victim of abduction, then perhaps something preceded it. Perhaps she herself was looking for a way to leave home."

"Are you suggesting Sophia might have run away voluntarily?"

"I'm just considering all possible scenarios. Professional habit," Berkut smiled. "But I'm glad I can be useful to the investigation. If you need consultation on psychological aspects of the case, I'm always at your service."

Anna nodded, carefully observing the expression on his face. Too smooth. Too professional. As if he had been expecting this conversation and had prepared thoroughly.

"One more question, Doctor Berkut. Are you familiar with collecting porcelain figurines? Elephants, in particular?"

It was a shot in the dark, but the reaction exceeded all expectations. Berkut momentarily froze. His right hand, resting on the desk, trembled slightly.

"Funny you should ask," he quickly composed himself. "I do actually have a small collection. Not elephants, though, but porcelain dogs. Why does this interest you?"

"In the apartment where Sophia lived, we found a collection of porcelain elephants. It might be connected to the disappearance."

Berkut shook his head.

"I'm afraid I can't help you there. Although… porcelain figurines are often used in art therapy. They can reveal a lot about a person's inner world."

"How exactly?"

"The choice of figurine, how one handles it, its placement in space—all of this reflects subconscious processes. But again, not knowing Sophia personally, I can only theorize."

Anna stood up, feeling she wouldn't get anything more from this conversation. Berkut was too cautious, too much in control of himself.

"Thank you for your help, doctor. We'll be in touch."

"Always happy to assist justice," Berkut walked her to the door. "And, Detective Sviridova… good luck to you. Cases like these always leave a mark on the soul."

Leaving the center, Anna called Dorokhov.

"He knows more than he's saying. Denies knowing Sokolov, but visibly tensed at the mention of Tver and porcelain elephants. And also—I saw a patient's chart with a blue circle, like the markings in Sokolov's register."

"I have news," Dorokhov's voice sounded excited. "I checked the connections. Elena Andreevna was indeed a patient at the 'New Life' center. Two years ago, a course of therapy for increased anxiety. And guess who referred her there?"

"Viktor Mikhailovich Astakhov."

"Exactly. Moreover, there are records showing that Sophia also underwent 'diagnostics' there. Only three sessions. Then the mother discontinued the therapy. And here's what's strange—there are colored markers in both electronic charts. The mother's is blue. The daughter's is green."

"Wait for me. We need to speak with Elena Andreevna urgently."


Consciousness returned slowly, as if rising from the depths of a dark lake. Sophia opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling for several seconds, not understanding where she was. The room. The same room with concrete walls. But something had changed. The walls… drawings had appeared on them. Colorful images of elephants—dozens, perhaps hundreds of figurines, drawn as if by a child's hand.

She tried to sit up, but her body wouldn't cooperate well. Her head was spinning, her mouth was dry. What had they injected her with?

"You're awake. Good."

Sophia turned her head. In the corner of the room, a girl about her age sat on a chair. Thin, with short dark hair and large eyes.

"Who are you?" Sophia's voice sounded hoarse.

"My name is Katya," the girl stood up and came closer. "Katya Voronova."

Sophia tried to make sense of what she heard. Katya Voronova. She had heard that name somewhere. Somewhere…

"Have you been here long?" Sophia asked, trying to collect her thoughts.

"Very long," Katya sat on the edge of the bed. "Almost twenty years ago."

"What?!" Sophia sat up abruptly, overcoming her weakness. "But that's impossible! You're…"

"I'm fifteen. I'm always fifteen," Katya smiled sadly. "It's hard to explain. You're under the influence of drugs right now. That's why you can see me."

Sophia stared at the girl, trying to understand what was happening. A hallucination? Effects of the injection? Or was she simply going insane?

"I don't understand…"

"Of course you don't," Katya picked up the green elephant from the nightstand. "I left you that message. 'Don't trust. Run. K.' I hoped you could get away before they started the procedures."

"What procedures? What's happening?" Sophia's voice was filled with panic.

Katya sighed, stroking the porcelain figurine.

"Berkut and his 'collectors'… they don't just kidnap children. They create their collection. Special children, as they say. Children whose souls will belong to them."

"I don't understand…"

"Berkut developed a drug. He calls it the 'key.' This drug alters consciousness, makes a person suggestible. And then… then they take a part of you. Your memories, your emotions, your will. And in return, they leave emptiness. Or something foreign."

Sophia felt as if her insides had frozen.

"They turn people into puppets?"

"Worse. They turn people into collectors. Just like themselves. Viktor Rogov, Igor Sokolov—they were the first. The first test subjects. And now they help Berkut find new… exhibits."

Sophia tried to digest what she'd heard. It sounded like nonsense, like the plot of a science fiction movie. But something told her that Katya was telling the truth.

"If you've been here for twenty years… why do you still look like a teenager?"

Katya smiled sadly.

"I'm not here. Not exactly here. My body… it's dead. Long dead. And what you see is just a projection. A reflection in your consciousness, altered by the drugs."

"You're a ghost?" Sophia moved away, feeling a shiver run through her body.

"No. More like… an echo. Berkut calls it 'residual consciousness.' When they take a person's essence, something still remains."

Chapter 9: Threads of Fate

Elena Andreevna met Anna in her apartment, exhausted by sleeplessness and waiting. Dark circles under her eyes, pale face, nervous movements—she looked like someone on the verge of a breakdown.

"Has something happened?" she asked as soon as Anna crossed the threshold. "Have you found Sophia?"

"Not yet. But I have new questions," Anna walked into the living room. "This is very important. Have you ever visited the 'New Life' psychological center?"

Elena Andreevna froze for a second.

"Yes. A couple of years ago. Viktor recommended it, said I had increased anxiety because of work. Why?"

"And Sophia was there too?"

"Several times. Three or four sessions," Elena Andreevna frowned. "But we stopped going. Sophia didn't like the psychologist. She said she felt uncomfortable during the sessions. What happened?"

Anna took out Berkut's photograph.

"Is this the psychologist you saw?"

Elena Andreevna looked at the picture and nodded.

"Yes, Doctor Berkut. He's a very well-known specialist. Viktor said there was a waiting list several months long, but we managed to get in through connections."

"What happened during the sessions? What did he do with you? With Sophia?"

"Standard therapy," Elena Andreevna shrugged. "Conversations, tests. With Sophia, he conducted some kind of art therapy… Something involving animal figurines. And he prescribed me pills."

"What kind of pills?"

"I don't remember the name. Small white pills. They were supposed to reduce anxiety. I took them for about a month, but then stopped—they made me feel somewhat… detached. As if I were looking at the world through a cloudy window."

Anna felt her pulse quicken.

"Elena Andreevna, these sessions, the pills… when exactly was this?"

"About six months before I met Viktor," she thought for a moment. "No, that's not right. We knew each other, but not closely. He was just an acquaintance from a mutual social circle. And then, when I was already seeing Berkut, he started showing more attention. Asking me on dates, giving gifts…"

"Don't you find that strange?" Anna asked carefully. "Berkut. Viktor. These pills."

Elena Andreevna slowly sank into a chair, her face suddenly growing even paler.

"You think… all of this was connected? Viktor and Berkut… they were working together?"

"We have reason to believe so," Anna moved closer. "And another person—Igor Sokolov, the physical education teacher. They may have been planning Sophia's abduction for a long time."

"My God," whispered Elena Andreevna. "I let him into our home. I myself…"

"It's not your fault," Anna said firmly. "They manipulated you. Possibly even with drugs."

Elena Andreevna suddenly raised her head, panic flashing in her eyes.

"The elephants!" she exclaimed. "Sophia's first elephant appeared after a session with Berkut. He gave her that figurine himself. Said it was… that it was a symbol of her potential."

"What color was this elephant?"

"Green," Elena Andreevna whispered. "Bright green."

Anna made a note in her notebook.

"Is there anything else that seems strange to you? Even the smallest detail could be important."

Elena Andreevna closed her eyes, remembering.

"There was one time… Sophia returned from a session with Berkut somewhat… different. Detached. She spoke slowly, as if struggling to find words. I asked if everything was all right, and she said: 'I saw Katya. She was special too.'"

"Katya?"

"Yes. At the time, I thought she was talking about another patient at the center. But now…"

"Katya Voronova," Anna said quietly. "The girl Viktor Rogov killed twenty years ago."

The phone rang in the kitchen. Elena Andreevna absently rose to answer it. A minute later, she returned even paler than before.

"It was him."

"Who?"

"Berkut. He said that Sophia is fine. That she…" Elena Andreevna's voice trembled. "That she's undergoing 'necessary transformation.'"

Anna jumped up.

"Did he give an address? Say where she is?"

"No. Only that… that soon I'll receive word from her. And that I should be prepared for her to change."

Anna quickly dialed Dorokhov's number.

"Urgently trace the call to Elena Andreevna's home phone. Just now. And put out an APB on Alexander Berkut. Immediately!"

Hanging up, she turned to Elena Andreevna.

"Have you remembered anything else? Did Berkut ever mention places he goes to? A house outside the city, a country home?"

Elena Andreevna rubbed her temples, trying to concentrate.

"Once… he talked about a sanatorium. Some old sanatorium he wanted to turn into a rehabilitation center for children with psychological trauma. A former Soviet sanatorium somewhere in the forest."

"Name? Address?"

"I think 'Pine'… or 'Forest'… something like that. But once I saw documents on his desk. Something related to property registration. There was an address: Sosnovskoye Highway, kilometer 115."

Anna was already dialing Dorokhov's number.

"Check the sanatorium at kilometer 115 of Sosnovskoye Highway. Possibly a former Soviet facility, now presumably owned by Berkut. Organize a tactical team. And request a search warrant for all properties connected to Berkut."


Rain poured down, turning the road into a slippery gray ribbon. Anna kept peering at the road signs through the wet windshield. Kilometer 112… 113… The turn to the old sanatorium should be somewhere around here.

Dorokhov sat beside her, reviewing documents.

"'Forest Glade' Sanatorium opened in 1978. Specialized in treating neuroses and psychosomatic disorders. Closed in 1996 due to lack of funding. In 2010, the property was sold to a private individual. Guess who?"

"Berkut," Anna answered, slowing down before a sharp turn.

"Almost. A company called 'New Path.' But its sole founder is Alexander Viktorovich Berkut. All documents in order, all permits obtained. Officially—a rehabilitation center for children and adolescents with mental trauma. But for the past five years, no activity. Electricity bills are paid, taxes are filed, but it's as if there are no patients."

"As if," Anna repeated. "Or they're simply not officially registered."

At the 115th kilometer, a sign appeared: "'Forest Glade' Sanatorium—2 km." Half-erased letters, a rusted arrow. Anna turned onto a narrow road leading into the forest.

"Is the tactical team in position?" she asked.

"Yes. Waiting for our signal. They've secured the perimeter but aren't moving in yet."

After two kilometers, they reached a high fence. Once-white concrete panels were now covered with moss and graffiti. The gates were locked with a massive padlock. To the left of the gates was a small door with an intercom.

"What's the plan?" Dorokhov looked at Anna. "The warrant will only be ready in an hour."

"No time to wait," she took out her pistol, checked the magazine. "Position the team. On my signal—move in."

Anna approached the small door and pressed the intercom button. Silence. She pressed it again. After a few seconds, a raspy voice answered:

"'Forest Glade' Sanatorium is closed to visitors."

"Police!" Anna said loudly. "Open up, we have questions."

Silence. Then the sound of a lock being opened. The door opened slightly.

Anna exchanged glances with Dorokhov, who was already coordinating the tactical team's actions over the radio. He nodded. She pushed the door and entered.

The sanatorium grounds looked neglected. The asphalt paths were cracked, with grass growing through them. The fountain in the center of the circular alley had long stopped working; rainwater had collected in its basin. In the distance stood a three-story building—the main building, once painted white but now gray.

Anna walked slowly along the alley, keeping her hand on her holster. Not a soul around. Only the sound of rain and rustling leaves.

A person stood at the entrance to the building. Tall, wearing a dark raincoat with a hood. When Anna came closer, he pushed back his hood, and she recognized Igor Sokolov.

"Detective Sviridova," he smiled slightly. "Doctor Berkut is expecting you."

"Where is Sophia Velichko?" Anna drew her pistol and aimed it at Sokolov.

"She's safe. Inside," he didn't look frightened or surprised. "Doctor Berkut knew you would find this place. He… foresaw your arrival."

"Hands behind your head. Slowly. And take me to Berkut."

Sokolov complied, smiling strangely.

"You don't understand, detective. This isn't just a meeting. It's… an invitation."

Dorokhov appeared behind Anna, weapon at the ready.

"The team is in position," he whispered. "Give the signal?"

She hesitated. If they started the raid, Sophia's life could be in danger. They needed to find her first, ensure her safety.

"No. I'll talk to Berkut first. Keep the team on standby."

Anna nodded to Sokolov:

"Lead the way."

## Chapter 10: Labyrinth

Inside, the sanatorium building was not nearly as abandoned as it appeared from the outside. Dim lamps illuminated a long corridor with several doors on both sides. The air was dry and warm, with a slight scent of antiseptic—like in a hospital. Each step echoed hollowly.

"Where are we going?" asked Anna, keeping her pistol aimed at Sokolov's back.

"To Doctor Berkut's office. Third floor, west wing," he spoke calmly, as if conducting a tour. "A surprise awaits you there."

"What kind of surprise?"

"You'll see," Sokolov smiled slightly. "The doctor has prepared everything very carefully."

They climbed a wide marble staircase to the second floor. Here the corridor split in two—right and left. Sokolov turned right, toward another staircase.

"Why are you doing this?" asked Anna, trying to keep her voice steady. "Why all of this?"

Sokolov stopped but didn't turn around.

"You wouldn't understand. No one understands until they experience it firsthand," he spoke quietly, as if sharing something intimate. "What Doctor Berkut does isn't just an experiment. It's… human evolution. A chance to become something greater. To see beyond the ordinary."

"You kidnap and torture children," cold contempt sounded in Anna's voice. "Is that evolution?"

"You're mistaken, detective. We don't cause them pain. We… liberate them. It's like taking off a heavy backpack after a long day. Only the backpack is the limitations of one's own personality."

He moved forward again, continuing to speak:

"Doctor Berkut has found a way to go beyond individual consciousness. To touch something… greater. You can't even imagine what opens up there, beyond the boundary."

Anna caught strange notes in his voice—a mixture of religious ecstasy and fanaticism. It seemed Berkut was truly not just a leader to them, but something of a guru.

They climbed to the third floor. It was noticeably brighter here—modern lighting fixtures, fresh paint on the walls. Nothing resembled an abandoned sanatorium. Sokolov stopped in front of large double doors at the end of the corridor.

"The doctor is waiting for you inside," he stepped aside. "Alone."

"That's not happening," Anna gripped her pistol tighter. "Open it."

Sokolov shrugged and pushed the door. Behind it was a spacious office with panoramic windows overlooking the forest. Modern furniture, elegant design, paintings on the walls. And books—hundreds of books on shelves from floor to ceiling. Alexander Viktorovich Berkut sat behind a massive dark wood desk.

"Anna Vitalyevna," he smiled, rising to meet her. "I'm glad you accepted my invitation."

"Where is Sophia Velichko?" Anna aimed her pistol at him, not wasting time on pleasantries.

"Safe, I assure you," Berkut gestured for her to sit in the chair opposite his desk. "Why don't we talk first? There's so much I'd like to tell you."

"I'm not going to play your games," Anna remained standing in place. "Where is the girl?"

Dorokhov, who had quietly entered the office behind Anna, kept Sokolov at gunpoint.

"Maybe we should search the building?" he suggested. "The team is ready."

Berkut sighed with theatrical disappointment.

"How banal. I expected more understanding from you, Anna Vitalyevna. But if you insist…" he pressed a button on his desk. "Igor, escort Detective Sviridova to the laboratory. Show her our guest."

"Dorokhov, stay here," Anna ordered. "Don't take your eyes off him. And call for backup."

She followed Sokolov, who led her down the corridor to an elevator at the end of the wing. The metal doors slid open with a soft hiss. Inside were only two buttons: up and down. Sokolov pressed "down."

"How many levels are underground?" Anna asked, not expecting an answer.

"Three," Sokolov unexpectedly replied. "The doctor repurposed the old bomb shelters. The result is… impressive."

The elevator seemed to descend forever. Finally, the doors opened, and Anna saw a long, brightly lit corridor. Sterile cleanliness, white walls, closed doors with small windows. Like a hospital. Or a prison.

"What is this place?"

"The transformation laboratory," Sokolov moved forward. "The most important work happens here. Here, personalities… are restructured. They take on a new form."

He stopped at one of the doors and looked through the small window.

"Look. Your Sophia."

Anna pushed him aside and peered through the glass. Inside was a small room with white walls. On a hospital-like bed lay Sophia. Her eyes were closed, and on her head was a strange device with numerous wires, resembling a helmet. Next to the bed stood medical equipment: monitors, IVs, some devices Anna had never seen before.

"What have you done to her?" Anna grabbed Sokolov by the collar, pinning him against the wall. "Open the door! Immediately!"

"She's just sleeping," he replied calmly. "The drug works gently. No pain, no violence. Only… transformation."

"Open this damn door!"

Sokolov took a key card from his pocket and swiped it through the reader. The lock clicked, the door opened slightly. Anna pushed Sokolov away and burst into the room.

Sophia lay motionless, but her chest rose and fell evenly—she was breathing. Anna checked her pulse—steady, strong. There was an injection mark on the girl's arm.

"Sophia? Sophia, can you hear me?" Anna gently shook the girl's shoulder.

No response. Her eyes moved rapidly under closed lids, as if dreaming. Her lips moved silently.

"What did you inject her with?" Anna turned to Sokolov, who stood in the doorway, watching with curiosity.

"The 'Key.' That's what Doctor Berkut calls his invention. A drug that opens the doors of perception. Makes consciousness… pliable. Ready for changes."

"What are the side effects?"

"Nothing dangerous. Dizziness, weakness, sometimes hallucinations," Sokolov shrugged. "Sophia is just dreaming. Special dreams, in which her consciousness is restructured, taking on a new form."

Anna began disconnecting the sensors from the girl's head. Carefully removed the strange helmet. A mesh of electrodes remained on Sophia's head, thin wires entangling her skin.

"What's the antidote? What neutralizes the drug's effect?"

"Time," Sokolov smiled. "Just time. In a few hours, she'll wake up. New. Renewed."

"You're monsters," Anna checked the girl's pupils. They responded to light—a good sign.

"No, we're visionaries. Pioneers. Those who see the future of human consciousness."

Anna pulled out her radio.

"Dorokhov? I've found Sophia. Basement level, west wing. She's unconscious but alive. We need a medical team and…"

A sharp pain in the back of her head interrupted her sentence. The world momentarily darkened. When her vision returned, Anna found herself on the floor. The radio had flown aside. Sokolov stood over her, holding a metal tray—evidently what he had hit her with.

"Sorry, detective, but Doctor Berkut insisted that you also become part of the experiment," Sokolov put the tray on the nightstand and leaned toward her. "Don't worry, it doesn't hurt. Quite the opposite."

Anna tried to reach for her gun, but her body wasn't responding well. Her vision was doubled. Sokolov easily intercepted her hand and took her weapon.

"Why…" she managed with difficulty. "Why do you need this?"

"The doctor believes you're an ideal candidate for the next phase of the experiment. Strong personality, sharp mind, unshakable will," he helped her up and sat her on a chair next to Sophia's bed. "People like you are rare. And experiments need… quality samples."

The sounds of gunshots and shouts came from the corridor. Sokolov turned toward the door, then back to Anna. His face reflected doubt.

"Stay here," he closed the door and turned the key in the lock.

Anna tried to stand, but the room spun before her eyes. Concussion? Seemed like it. She focused on her breathing, trying to clear her mind. The radio lay several meters away from her. If she could reach it…

At that moment, Sophia moaned and opened her eyes. A foggy, unfocused gaze slid across the room and stopped on Anna.

"You… came," the girl's voice was weak, barely audible. "Katya said you would come…"

"Katya?" Anna leaned closer. "Which Katya?"

"Katya Voronova," Sophia spoke slowly, as if choosing her words. "She's here… with us. Has been for a long time. Waiting."

The sounds of fighting in the corridor grew louder. Someone shouted commands, footsteps could be heard. It seemed the raid had begun.

"Sophia, can you stand? We need to leave."

The girl tried to rise but unsuccessfully. Her body wouldn't obey her, like a puppet with cut strings.

"Can't… Too tired…"

"It's okay, I'll help you," Anna gathered all her strength and rose from the chair. The room was still spinning, but not as badly. "We'll get out of here."

She helped Sophia sit up by supporting her under the arms. At that moment, someone began pounding on the door.

"Anna! Are you in there? Answer!" Dorokhov's voice sounded muffled but recognizable.

"Here!" she shouted. "The door is locked!"

"Get back! I'm going to break it down!"

Anna dragged Sophia to the far corner of the room, shielding her with her body. A few seconds later, a shot rang out, the lock shattered to pieces, and the door flew open. Dorokhov stood on the threshold, with two special forces officers behind him.

"Are you all right?" he quickly surveyed the room, making sure there was no danger.

"Yes. Sokolov hit me, but nothing serious," Anna nodded toward Sophia. "But she needs urgent medical attention. They gave her some kind of drugs."

"Medics are on their way," Dorokhov helped lift the girl. "We've taken control of the upper floors. Berkut tried to escape, but we detained him. But Sokolov appears to have slipped away. Escaped through some emergency exit."

"He won't get far," Anna carefully guided Sophia toward the door. "Put out an APB on him. And check this entire basement. Who knows how many more 'patients' are being held here."

In the corridor, forensic specialists were already bustling about, photographing and describing every detail. Police officers opened the doors of other rooms—most of them turned out to be empty.

"It seems Sophia was the only one… at the moment," Dorokhov supported the girl from the other side. "But judging by the equipment, there have been many 'guests' here."

When they reached the first floor, a medical team was already waiting with a stretcher. Sophia was carefully laid down and connected to an IV.

"Condition is stable," reported one of the doctors after a quick examination. "But we need to get her to a hospital urgently. We don't know what they gave her."

"I'll go with her," Anna turned to Dorokhov. "You make sure everything here is checked down to the last cabinet. And contact Elena Andreevna. Tell her we've found Sophia, she's alive, we're taking her to the hospital."

"Got it," Dorokhov nodded. "What about Berkut?"

"Let him sit in a cell for now. I'll interrogate him later, when I'm sure Sophia is okay. And find me all the information about his 'Key'—what kind of drug it is, how it works, what the consequences might be."

In the ambulance, Anna took Sophia's hand. The girl looked fragile and pale under the bright lights, but her breathing was even, and her pulse was stable.

"Everything will be all right," Anna said quietly, not knowing if Sophia could hear her. "I promise. We'll figure it all out."

Sophia suddenly squeezed her hand tighter and opened her eyes slightly.

"They'll come for us," she whispered. "The collectors. For me… and for you. Now you're also part of the collection…"

Her eyes closed again, her hand went limp. The doctor adjusted the IV and nodded reassuringly to Anna:

"Don't worry, this is normal. Patients in this condition often speak incoherently. A side effect of sedative drugs."

But Anna knew that Sophia's words weren't incoherent. They were a warning. And Anna intended to take it very seriously.

The ambulance sped through the night city, cutting through the darkness with flashing lights. The rain had finally stopped, and rare stars were visible in the sky. The first round had been won—Sophia was rescued, Berkut arrested. But Anna's intuition told her this was only the beginning. That the secrets hidden within the walls of the old sanatorium were much deeper and more terrifying than they appeared at first glance.

And that Sophia's words about the "collectors" would echo many more times in this tangled case.

Chapter 11: Reflections

The hospital room was immersed in whiteness. White walls, white bedding, white light from the window covered with thin curtains. In this sterile space, Sophia seemed even more fragile than usual. Her pale face almost blended with the pillow, thin arms lying limply on top of the blanket.

Elena Andreevna sat beside her daughter's bed, not taking her eyes off her, as if afraid that if she looked away even for a second, Sophia would disappear again. Dark circles under her eyes, a haggard face—the past two weeks had left a deep mark on her.

Anna quietly entered the room. She, too, showed signs of exhaustion—in her face, movements, and eyes.

"How is she?" asked Anna, coming closer.

"Sleeping," Elena Andreevna spoke in a whisper, afraid to wake her daughter. "The doctors say it's normal. Her body is recovering."

Anna nodded, sitting down on a chair on the other side of the bed.

"What are they saying about the drug they gave her?"

"They still haven't been able to determine its exact composition," Elena Andreevna rubbed her temples. "Some unknown formula. A mixture of neuroleptics, psychotropic substances, and something else they can't identify. But they say there's no serious brain damage. That's already good."

"Has she woken up?"

"Yes, several times. But not for long. She says strange things…" Elena Andreevna's voice faltered. "She talks about a girl named Katya. Says she helped her there, in the sanatorium. Warned her, explained things. But Katya Voronova died twenty years ago!"

Anna silently observed the sleeping Sophia. A slight trembling of eyelashes, the barely noticeable movement of eyes beneath the lids—what was she dreaming about now? What images were being created by a consciousness that had been in Berkut's hands?

"It's because of the drug," Anna finally said. "Hallucinations, altered perception. It should all gradually pass."

"And if it doesn't?" fear flashed in Elena Andreevna's eyes. "If he did something to her mind that can't be fixed?"

"We'll do everything possible," Anna replied firmly. "We have Berkut. He will answer for what he did. And he'll tell us how to help Sophia."

Elena Andreevna suddenly covered her face with her hands, and her shoulders shook with suppressed sobs.

"It's my fault," she whispered. "I let them into our lives. First Berkut, then Viktor…"

"You didn't know. You couldn't have known," Anna placed a hand on her shoulder. "They manipulated you professionally. Used drugs to make you suggestible, trusting."

"But I should have protected her…"

The conversation was interrupted by a slight movement on the bed. Sophia opened her eyes—clear, conscious, not as cloudy as before.

"Mom?" her voice was weak, but recognizable. "Anna Vitalyevna?"

"I'm here, sweetheart," Elena Andreevna took her daughter's hand. "How do you feel?"

"Tired," Sophia tried to smile. "And my head feels heavy. As if… there's something extra in there."

"You need to rest," Elena Andreevna stroked her daughter's hair. "Build up your strength."

Sophia shifted her gaze to Anna.

"Did you catch him? Doctor Berkut?"

"Yes," Anna nodded. "He's been arrested. And he'll answer for everything he did."

"And Igor? The physical education teacher?"

"He escaped. But we'll find him, don't worry."

Sophia closed her eyes, as if gathering her thoughts. Then she looked at Anna again.

"They're not alone. There are many of them. Collectors. And they'll come for me… for us."

"Who are the collectors, Sophia?" Anna leaned forward, but caught Elena Andreevna's warning glance—don't tire her. "You can tell me later, when you've rested."

"No, I have to now," the girl's voice became insistent. "While I remember. While everything is clear."