Planning

Damian slumped onto the edge of his couch with a steaming plastic bowl of instant noodles, he bought it from the little grocery below his building. The steam covered his face as he continued eating in slow bites.

His ribs ached whenever he shifted. His nose still throbbed. Museum leftovers.

The room was lit up by the small yellow lamp near the window, revealing the clutter on his table. His hoodie swayed over the armrest, a dried smear of blood still at the collar.

Halfway through another bite, his phone buzzed.

He lowered the fork and unlocked the phone.

Sarah:
okay so I was checking tickets??
prices are kinda brutal

Damian set the bowl down on the coffee table. He straightened a little.

Sarah:
theres this new line called Nocturne express
its 900 per head tho 😭

His eyes narrowed slightly.

That made him exhale through his nose.

900 is steep

He checked his bank balance.

€2,499

His recent payment of eighteen hundred was split into his bills and rent, leaving him 600 euros.

Damian:
900 is pretty steep, but i can make it work
wbu?

Damian rubbed his thumb along his phone’s edge, thinking.

It’s doable but I can’t be broke after the trip.

He then lifted the phone to his ear and dialed someone he didn’t particularly enjoy calling.

The handler picked up on the second ring.

“Miss me already?” he greeted, too cheerful for a handler.

Damian exhaled. “How many jobs can you get me before Wednesday?”

“Oho. Motivated, are we?” The handler rustled papers. “Alright. I’ve got 2 transfer jobs and a pick up. For some biotech company and an oil rig I think?”

“Pay?”

“Near 800?” the handler estimated. “Texting you the details.”

Damian ended the call.
Five notifications followed. Two from the handler, three from Sarah.

Sarah:
I can handle it
besides i saw the train it looks really good
meet me at the cafe after work tomorrow?
Damian:
got it sounds good

The noodles had gone cold by the time he took another bite.

Outside, someone shut a balcony door, and the city quieted a little more.

A week until Wednesday.

Damian sat at a corner table in the café, phone in hand, scrolling through the Nocturne Express site. The late afternoon light filtered in through the windows, painting the worn wood with a soft glow. His second bartender shift didn’t start for another two hours, so he had time to kill and to plan.

He tapped through seat options and read schedules, typing a few notes down.

“Hey.”

Damian looked up to see Sarah sliding into the chair across from him, her backpack set casually beside her. A small smile curved his lips.

“Hey,” he said. “I just checked the train you were talking about, and that 900 price tag is starting to make sense.”

“Yep,” Sarah nodded. “it’s the only one that takes you straight to St. Petersburg without layovers.”

Damian frowned slightly, a mental note forming. Why not a layover? But the thought vanished quickly. They both had jobs to get back to, so the convenience was worth it.

“Right,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Well, we book the tickets,” Sarah said, tilting her phone to show him the page. “Seats are limited, so the earlier the better. Departure is set for… 8:00 am wednesday morning, at the Porto Station.”

Damian nodded, pulling his phone closer and opening the full package details. He scrolled through the itinerary, his expressions shifted as he went along.

Cabin layouts, luggage restrictions, onboard amenities. His brow furrowed slightly at the cabin map, then relaxed when he found the compartments with the best view.

A lot of money for a couple of days, but… were trains always this expensive?

Sarah watched him for a few seconds before asking, a curious tilt to her head, “So… why’d you decide to come along?”

Damian stopped scrolling for a fraction of a second, eyes flicking up from the screen to hers. Then casually replied, “You said I needed a vacation. You’re probably right. And… what better way to do it than with a friend, right?”

“Yeah,” She wasn’t sure what she wanted him to say, but it was an answer she was content with.

Sarah let her hands rest on her lap and thought for a moment. Then, a small smirk appeared. “Well… not like you’d have other friends to travel with.”

Damian rolled his eyes without looking up and continued checking the package details. “Sure.”

He scrolled down a little more, then read aloud, “Looks like… it’ll be a shared cabin.”

Sarah’s eyes widened. She’d expected this detail to come up at some point and had no idea how she was supposed to introduce it on her own.

“Right.” she said lightly.

An awkward few seconds passed, where both slightly shot eyes at each other whilst trying to appear composed.

A waitress then approached their table. “Hi, can I get you anything?”

Sarah straightened a little. “Black coffee, please.”

Damian closed his phone for a moment, clearing his throat. “Tea for me. And… a slice of banana cake.”

The waitress nodded, scribbled it down, and left with a polite smile.

Sarah tilted her head. “Banana cake?”

“It’s good here,” Damian said simply, reopening his phone hoping the prior topic of interest was over with.

He scrolled for a moment, tapping into the full route map. “Alright… so first stop is Madrid. Then Barcelona. And then…” He squinted at the map. “Some place in France called… La Tour-de-Carol?”

He said it in a half-mock French accent, eyes still glued to the screen.

Sarah half smiled.

He continued in his normal voice. “Then we go to Munich Metro Station, Warsaw Central Station, and finally St. Petersburg.”

Sarah pulled out her phone and compared the stations on the map. After a second, she angled it toward him. “La Tour and Munich are pretty far apart, though.”

Damian leaned slightly to see her screen, then nodded slowly. “Yeah… but we’d be stopping through multiple cities and towns, surely, right? I mean…” He pointed at the phone. “That’s a whole chunk of France to cross.”

“Maybe,” Sarah said with a shrug. “Could be smaller stations they don’t list.”

He skimmed a few more lines and raised his eyes. “You’re going to see your parents, right? I should probably get a hotel.”

Sarah shook her head immediately. “No, you’re fine. My parents’ house is big enough. They’ll have another room.”

Damian’s brows rose a bit. “Are you sure they’d be okay with that?”

She paused, eyes drifting to the corner of the café as she thought it through. “We’ll… cross that bridge when we get there.”

He let out a quiet chuckle. “Did something happen back there or…?”

Sarah shook her head. “No, it’s just… it’s been a while. I have friends to catch up with, you know?”

She planned to see the handler. This trip was her chance to tell him to his face that she wanted out. But she kept that part buried.

He tapped the edge of his phone lightly. “Right, right.”

Sarah leaned back with a small grin. “And obviously you wouldn’t relate to the whole ‘catching up with old friends’ thing.”

Damian gave her a look. “Are you going to taunt me for the entire trip?”

She lifted a shoulder in a playful shrug just as the waitress returned with their drinks and the banana cake.

The two of them settled into an easy rhythm, talking through the rest of the details—packing, work shifts, the early Wednesday departure—until Damian checked the time and sighed. His shift wasn’t far off.

They gathered their things, and split up at the corner toward their separate jobs.

Damian’s week blurred into hours of bartending, pouring drinks, wiping counters, then at night. Two transfers, and a pick up, just like the handler said.

Sarah’s nights were just as sharp. The music store closed late, but as soon as the lights went off, she was out. A quick weapon transfer in a deserted car park, a pick-up from a shady industrial lot, a shadowed tailing for a client.

By Sunday, both ran on little sleep, their calendars inching toward Wednesday.

Back in her apartment, Sarah’s laptop glowed on the small desk cluttered with sheet music and notebooks. She typed quickly in Russian to her friends online.

Sarah:
Ребята, на следующей неделе буду в городе! Будем тусоваться?
(“Guys, I’ll be in town next week! We’ll hang out?”)

Replies pinged almost immediately.

Sasha:

Серьёзно? Да ладно
(Really? No way)

Daniil:
Классно, давай повторим!

(That’s great, let’s run it back!)

Sarah:

Я ещё друга с собой возьму, покажем ему город, да?
(I’ll be bringing a friend with me too, let’s show him around, yeah?)

Irina:

Это тот самый друг?
(Is it that friend?)

Очень смешно, но дело в том, что на следующем уикенде вы должны освободить свои графики. Никаких оправданий.

(Very funny, but the point is you guys need to free your schedule next weekend. No excuses.)

Mikhail:

Вот это важный вопрос 😏”
(That’s the important question)

Sasha:

Стооооп 😂
(Stoooop)

Connor:

А там общая каюта?
(Is it a shared cabin?)

Daniil:

О нет, я умер 😩
(Oh no, I’m dead)

Max:

Не может быть, наша Сара на такое способна?!
(No way, our Sarah had the balls for that)

Sarah watched the group chat ping nonstop, notifications popping up faster than she could read them. The mockery was relentless.

She let out a low scoff, shaking her head at the screen, and closed the laptop with a soft click.

With a quiet resolve, Sarah stood up and began pulling clothes from her wardrobe, folding them methodically into her bag. She needed to focus on packing, planning, and preparing for the journey ahead.

Damian moved through the city’s streets, bartending shifts already behind him, adrenaline still lingering from another late-night transfer. His final job was a pick-up, a simple hand-off from a client at a quiet warehouse. Simple, except for the three men waiting on the far side of the lot.

He spotted them just as he stepped from the shadows, their intent very clear.

He ducked the first swing of a crowbar, letting it clang against the concrete. The second man rushed him with a knife, but Damian twisted, using the momentum to send him sprawling into a stack of crates.

“Let me get this over with already.” he complained, shifting the suitcase onto his other arm.

“So… why are you so desperate for these jobs anyways?” the handler’s voice came through, casual but inquisitive. “Don’t tell me you’ve splashed that 1800 already.”

Damian parried another strike, sidestepping a wild swing. “No,” he said, breathing evenly. “I’m going on a holiday next week.”

“Oh?” The handler leaned back, the faint creak of his chair audible over the comms. “Where to?”

“St. Petersburg,” Damian replied without missing a beat, twisting to evade a low kick aimed at his ribs. The suitcase stayed secure.

The handler’s voice lowered, inquisitive. “And… what could possibly be in store for you there?”

Damian jabbed at one of the men, sending him into a dusty pile of crates. “I’m going with a friend of mine.”

A pause.

Then the handler clicked his tongue, clasping his hands together as if piecing a puzzle together. “Aha! So you’re going with Sarah, right? I forgot she’s half Russian. No wonder you’re so desperate to go.”

Damian scoffed, ducking under a swing. “It’s not like that. We both needed a vacation. Decided to go together. No big deal.”

He finished the fight cleanly, three down, no serious injuries on either side, and retrieved the suitcase with the information securely tucked inside.

“Sure, man. Sure,” the handler said, half-mocking.

Damian cut the call, muttering under his breath as he rubbed a hand over his face. The city hummed around him, the suitcase secure and the trip still very much on his mind.