Chapter 1: The Real Target
The entire bank remained frozen.
Nobody moved.
Nobody breathed.
The knife slipped slightly in the robber's trembling hand.
The boy stared directly at the faded tattoo on the man's wrist.
A black serpent wrapped around a broken cross.
The exact symbol his father had drawn hundreds of times during years of therapy.
The symbol the doctors said belonged to a nightmare.
A memory that should have disappeared forever after the attack.
But it hadn't.
The robber took a step back.
"That's impossible," he muttered.
The boy's mother suddenly gasped.
She recognized the tattoo too.
Seven years earlier, her husband had been found bleeding beside a deserted highway.
No witnesses.
No suspects.
No explanation.
The police called it a random assault.
But now she knew the truth.
It had never been random.
Then another voice echoed through the bank.
A voice coming from the second robber.
"Stop talking."
His tone wasn't nervous anymore.
It was angry.
Controlled.
Dangerous.
The boy noticed something.
The second robber wasn't watching the customers.
He wasn't watching the money.
He was watching one person.
The bank manager.
The manager's face had turned completely white.
Suddenly everything made sense.
This robbery wasn't about cash.
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It was about someone inside the bank.
And whoever planned it never expected a ten-year-old boy to recognize a symbol from the past.
