Die for you [antikvár]

PrologueAil light snow falls, slowly coating the deep-red rooftops of Prague. I look up into a chill gunmetal sky as the gray stones beneath me are already disappearing under a blanket of white. There's a frigid hush over the square. Shops are closed, chairs perched upside down on café tables. In the distance I hear church bells. A strong wind sighs and moans, picks up some stray papers and dances them past me. The morning would be beautiful in its blustery quiet if I weren't in so much painif I weren't so cold.The side of my body that rests against the ground is stiff and numb. With difficulty, sore muscles protesting, I struggle to sit. I use the back of a park bench to pull myself to my feet. With the harsh wind pulling at my cuffs and collar, I wonder, How long have I been lying on the freezing stone, in the middle of this empty square? How did I get here? The last thing I remember clearly is a question I asked of a young girl with tattoos on her face. I remember her eyesvery young, damaged, afraid. I asked her:"Kde?" Where? She looked at me, startled; I remember her darting eyes, how she shifted from foot to foot, anxious, desperate. "Prosim," I said. Please. "Kde je Kristof Ragan?" Where is Kristof Ragan?Distantly, I remember her answer. But it's buried too deep in my aching head for me to retrieve. Get moving, a voice inside me says. Get help. I have the sense that there's an imminent threat, but I'm not sure what it is.