Писатель Илья Розенфельд

Alex considered his ability a curse wrapped in alluring packaging. One kiss—just one fleeting touch of the lips—and a woman's entire life would crash down on him in an avalanche of information, leaving no room for secrets, mystery, or the sweet uncertainty called romance. He was a walking lie detector, an archivist of other people's souls, and it made him the loneliest man in the world. His gift, or affliction, wasn't mere intuition. It was a squall of sensory data. The first kiss with a blonde named Charlotte on their third date brought the taste of burnt coffee from the office machine, the smell of chlorine from the pool she visited three times a week, and the quiet, almost inaudible jingle of the wedding ring she had taken off and hidden in her purse before meeting him. He learned she was 34, not 28 as she claimed; that she wasn't an "art director" but a senior manager at an advertising agency, and her main hobby wasn't contemporary art but watchin...

📖 CHAPTER 1. THE RETURN He returned at night. It was cold on the plane, but not because of the air conditioners—the air felt distant, indifferent, almost devoid of oxygen. He sat by the window and stared into the darkness, seeing only his own reflection. Sometimes it seemed to him that it wasn't his face, but a mask—exhausted, with sunken cheeks and eyes that had sunk deeper than before. At passport control , he didn't say an unnecessary word. The stamp struck the passport, soullessly marking the moment when the line between the one who entered and the one who had left was erased forever. It all started two days later. First—a slight burning in his eyes. Then—a fever, night sweats, a dry cough. He knew this scenario well: hundreds of viruses had played it out across the world. He thought he was prepared for such a situation and didn't even go to the clinic. He just lay down at home, documenting each symptom like a scientist, not a patient. On the third day, he reali...

In the bustling airport of Shanghai, where crowds of tourists swarmed like ants, stood a man named Marcus. In his backpack, there was only an old laptop—smooth, silver, without a single scratch. Marcus traveled light: no luggage, no plans, just an eternal search for new "specimens." He sat down on a bench in the waiting area and opened the laptop. From the speakers poured a strange sound—a mixture of whispers, laughter, and distant cries, woven into a hypnotic melody. It wasn't music in the usual sense; it lured like a siren, making heads turn. Nearby sat a young guy with headphones—a tourist from Europe named Liam. He took off his headphones and leaned closer. "Hey, dude, what track is that? Sounds cool but creepy," Liam asked, peering at the screen. Marcus smiled out of the corner of his mouth, not taking his eyes off the keyboard. "Want to take a look?" he whispered, opening the lid wider. Liam's eyes lit up with curiosity. He moved clos...

ГЛАВА ПЕРВАЯ Планета без дорог На одной планете, которую вряд ли можно найти в нашей галактике, существовал необычный способ перемещения и транспортировки в пространстве. Там не было дорог, автомобилей, поездов, самолётов и водного транспорта. Люди перемещались исключительно посредством порталов, вход в которые выглядел как чёрные дыры. Правда, в них никто никогда не исчезал (до сих пор) и всегда добирался до пункта назначения. Внутри эти порталы напоминали детские горки-трубы, только гораздо просторнее: в них одновременно, в разных направлениях, могли перемещаться сотни человек. Такие порталы имелись в каждом городе. Для передвижения между городами существовали более вместительные версии. А по-настоящему огромными были те, через которые происходило перемещение между странами или отправлялись грузы. Чтобы не пропустить свою остановку-выход (он же — вход), внутри порталов действовала система оповещения. Но поскольку в ней одновременно передавались сотни, тысячи и даже десятки тысяч...