"Here"
I opened the door to my apartment, standing beside to let Lucas in first.
"Welcome to my chaos," I muttered.
He didn't even need to step far—because chaos was, quite literally, everywhere.
The apartment wasn't big—just a narrow living room with a kitchen attached, one bedroom, and a balcony that probably saw more cigarettes than sunlight. But it was mine. Every inch of it carried the same obsessive balance between order and disorder that lived inside my head.
The walls were lined with pale gray wallpaper, almost sterile in tone, except for the dozens of sticky notes plastered in perfect grid patterns near my desk. Each one had neat handwriting, color-coded by category—blue for evidence, yellow for psychological notes, red for "possible lies." Lucas once said it looked like a serial killer's Pinterest board. I told him he wasn't wrong.
My bookshelves sagged slightly under the weight of old case files, philosophy books, and a stack of journals I never managed to finish.
I put my typewriter on the table carefully, wiping dust away.
On the coffee table—three cups of coffee, all half-finished, all from different days. I could tell by the way the milk had separated. I meant to clean them, but somehow never found the right time. Or the right mood. OCD was a bitch that way—it didn't make me clean more, it just made me clean differently. Obsessively focused on certain things, blind to the rest.
Lucas stood in the middle of the room, turning a slow circle with an amused smirk.
"Wow. You really outdid yourself, Sherlock."
I narrowed my eyes. "It's called a controlled mess. Every single thing has its purpose."
"Right," he said, bending to pick up a sock under the coffee table. "And this? Symbolic representation of your emotional instability?"
"Fuck you."
I take it back from him and throw it in the washing machine.
He laughed—full, genuine, and annoyingly warm. "You really haven't changed. Even your chaos looks symmetrical."
I sank into the couch, rubbing my temple. "Symmetry is sanity."
Lucas raised an eyebrow, leaning on the counter. "Then you're the most balanced lunatic I've ever met."
I smirked, but inside, something in me loosened. It had been a long time since my apartment felt less like a bunker and more like a home.
"Hungry?" I asked him, pretending to look into the fridge, is empty.
""Nah, I'm good," he said, leaning against the table, that smug smirk in place like he'd practiced it in a mirror. "But if you say so—why don't you show me how you use a knife?"
The smirk made my skin crawl. I could feel the old, calm, measured part of me slide into place — the part that knows exactly where a blade should go and why. If he smirked like that one more time, I'd show him for real.
"I will definitely stab you," I said flatly, letting the words hang between us like a dare. He laughed — stupid, harmless — and didn't move an inch.
"Alright, calm down, chef," he said, hands up. "I was joking."
I grabbed my coat off the back of a chair, shoved my hands into the pockets and found the familiar shape of my hearing-aid case. The small click as I snapped it shut sounded absurdly loud in the quiet room. "I don't have much left in here. I'm going out — pick up a few things from the convenience."
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "Name three."
"Coffee. Milk. Batteries." I met his eyes, deadpan. "And maybe something you can't burn with your charm."
"Not work for me buddy!" I raised a middle finger at him.
He grinned, sliding a hand into his pocket. "I'll guard the fortress while you're gone. Try not to come back with five new hobbies."
I slam the door shut behind me and head towards the elevator, waiting it, counting the floor in my mind…
30, 31, 32…
ding
The mirror met my eyes the moment the stairwell door sighed open. I stepped inside; my shoes tapped the marble—three quick taps, then another three, the ritual doubling itself because that's how it had to be. It was always one hundred to the first floor in my head — not literal, just the cadence that kept the panic at bay.
Ding.
Shit. The elevator bell cut the rhythm. It just stop at 62. Not the first floor. Not yet.
The doors slid apart and a couple spilled in, umbrellas dripping on the mat. He was laughing at something she'd said; she smelled of jasmine and cheap perfume, the kind that hangs in a doorway like someone else's story. They didn't notice my face in the mirror as they passed and standing in the elevator — they never did. People are terrible at seeing.
I adjusted the little dial behind my ear because the hearing aids made the laugh too close, too bright. My fingers moved without permission: three taps on the banister, then three more. The pattern steadied me like a metronome.
"Excuse me," the woman said, catching sight of me. Her smile was practiced. "Sorry—going down?"
"Yes" I nod curtly.
70, 73, 76..
ding
I stepping out as fast as I can when it reach the first floor, open up my umbrella and walking towards the convenient store
The convenience store lights glowed ahead, a warm oasis against the gray of the rain. I noticed the doors—slightly misaligned, one edge scraping the floor—but I didn't slow down, just counted my steps until I reached the threshold. Three to the curb, two to the sidewalk, four to the door.
"Good afternoon!" The cashier there greeting me with full grin on her face. Never mind.
I moved down the aisles slowly, each step deliberate. The shelves were neat, items lined up like soldiers. I ran a fingertip along the edges of the boxes, straightening one or two that leaned too far forward. Better, I muttered silently.
"You can't imagine!!!!!" A sudden loud shout from the other side of the stall make my ears spiking.
I followed the noise, where it come from is from the water aisle. There are two girl standing together. My eyes catching a single glimpse of that brunette—it's Maya and her friend.
Well, they might be living nearby—their school was close, so it wasn't entirely surprising to see them here. I quickly grabbed some tofu, instant noodles, cheese, bacon, and sausage—enough to call it dinner—and lined them neatly in my basket. Each item straight, labels facing forward, the small order giving me a sense of control.
"Anna?"
The voice cut through the faint buzz in my hearing aids, sharp and calm. My head turned slowly, eyes landing on her. Maya was there, hands wrapped around several packs of cookies, her gaze locking on me immediately. Recognition hit her like a quiet flash, measured but unmistakable.
Behind her, a girl I didn't know—Livia, obviously—stared at me like I had dropped from the sky. Her mouth hung open, eyes wide, curls bouncing as she blinked. Shock radiated off her in waves.
"Anna… also buying instant noodles too!! Maya!! Where's the camera?" she squealed, practically vibrating in place, notebook half-open in one hand.
I adjusted the tiny dial on my hearing aids, the muffled buzz giving way to clearer sound, and caught every word. My fingers twitched, straightening the bacon pack in my basket.
"Huh?"
Maya's eyes didn't leave mine. She didn't smile, didn't react to Livia's fan-girl explosion. She just studied me—me, my basket, the careful way I'd aligned the packages—and for a moment, the whole convenience store seemed to shrink around us.
"You… live nearby?" she asked quietly, voice low but steady.
"Yes," I said curtly, sliding pack of snack in my basket, sit perfectly atop the tofu.
Livia gasped again, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "We are in the same store… at the same time with ANNA LÖWENDELD! This is insane! Photo! Video! Someone capture this moment!"
frowned slightly when my name was called so loudly, the fanfare of Livia's excitement making my chest tighten. I wanted—needed—to escape this crowded, noisy store. My basket felt heavier than it was, my hands adjusting the cocoa milk carton and chocolate bar so everything was straight, aligned.
I walked quickly toward the cashier, trying to keep my steps measured, the soles of my shoes making small, precise splashes in the wet floor near the door mat. Just breathe. Step by step.
And then—a sharp, blinding flash.
"Please smile!" Livia squealed behind the camera.
My heart stuttered violently. The light wasn't just bright; it burned, stabbing through my vision, scattering shadows across the ceiling. I froze, a cold wave crashing over me. My hearing aids buzzed erratically, amplifying the shrill click of th
Rain. Dark clouds. The night sky bleeding into black. My mother, running—slipping—her hand outstretched toward me. The street slick with water, puddles reflecting fractured lights. That scream. That terrible, final scream.
I jerked back instinctively, stumbling over my own feet as the memory gripped me. My fingers clutched the basket tightly, arranging the items obsessively as if their order could pull me back to the present, could hold me steady against the surge of grief and fear.
"Anna?" Maya's calm, measured voice cut through the chaos, a tether in the storm. Her eyes were sharp, scanning me, understanding without asking.
I blinked rapidly, forcing the tears that had pricked my eyes back, pressing my lips together. Step by step. Control what you can. I adjusted the tiny dial on my hearing aids, muting the shrill ringing just enough to hear the low hum of the store, the soft scrape of the cashier scanning items, Livia babbling in the background like a frantic bird.
"Tell her," my breath come out ragged, "to stop."
Livia, of course, was oblivious to the moment entirely. "Come on, Anna! We need you! Think about it—this is the project! Your mother—uh, Serene Löwendeld! She's practically a legend! You could help us uncover everything!"
My eyes snapped up immediately. Why that girl can know her name?
"Excuse me?" I ask quietly.
"Your mom, Serene Löwendeld!!! She is my big dream in my life, and now," she holding my hands up in hers, "I standing with her daughter now.."
"I… I don't know," I muttered, voice low, cautious. The flash had left me rattled, my chest still tight, and the memory of that rainy night—the scream, the darkness, my mother's last moments—made the idea of digging into her life almost unbearable.
Livia leaned closer, practically vibrating. "Please! We'll do all the work! You just help with… with… names, connections, whatever you know! You'd be amazing!"
"I really don't know, I don't understand what are you trying to say now.." I try to peel her hands off me. Fuck, Lucas, I need you now.
I swallowed, feeling the familiar tug of obligation and unease. Livia squealed again, bouncing beside me drawing attention from everyone.
"I accept your offer…" Maya's voice stammered slightly, uneven but firm.
I froze. She… she accepted it?
Her eyes bored straight into mine, unwavering. For a heartbeat, the convenience store, the drizzle outside, even Livia's excited squeals all blurred into nothing. Just me and her. A sharp, still moment where everything felt raw, exposed, fragile.
"This is the moment," I whispered almost to myself, barely audible.
"You accept?" I murmured again, letting my voice barely brush her ears, cautious but probing.
Maya blinked, then exhaled slowly, a faint tension leaving her shoulders. "Right now… I just need 120,000 euro, and a deal for my school project…"
I almost smirked, the corner of my lips twitching. Classic. Even in the middle of a tense negotiation, her practicality sneaked through.
"No one ever taught you that greed is a bad behavior in life?" I said softly, teasing, letting my fingers brush the cocoa milk in my basket almost absentmindedly, adjusting it until it sat perfectly straight.
She let out a soft, almost imperceptible chuckle, lips twitching. "Maybe I learned it… and ignored it." Her gaze softened just enough to reveal a tiny crack in her armor—one I didn't miss.
I swallowed, heart still thudding from the memory of the flash, the rain, the weight of everything tied to my past. Yet now, standing mere feet apart, the tension mixed with something sharper—curiosity, challenge, and an unspoken understanding.
"Step by step, then," I said quietly, voice steadying, the OCD rituals of arranging my small basket items grounding me. "I give you three days, after that, quit job there…"
"Are we clear?" I asked.
The rain outside tapped softly against the windows, a quiet rhythm, almost like the heartbeat of the moment. Around us, life carried on in its usual chaos—Livia squealing, the cash register ringing—but inside that bubble, all that mattered was the deal, the unspoken tension, and the small, precise order I had imposed on the world around me.
And maybe… just maybe… it was enough to hold onto.
—§—
"One Margarita shot, please"
I said, my voice steady, hands hovering on the keyboard, I'm telling Lucas to order something to eat, that I have some urgent work to do—even though I'm unemployed.
Maya slid onto the stool beside me, her movements smooth, casual, but there was that familiar sharpness in her eyes. "You're really going for it?" she asked quietly, nodding toward my order.
I tilted my head, adjusting the hearing aid dial slightly to cut the low murmur of the pub. "I'm… testing the waters," I said, trying to sound lighter than I felt. My stomach flipped slightly—Maya here, at a place she knew like the back of her hand, made me feel unsteady.
A faint smirk tugged at her lips. "Funny… this used to be my domain. Bartending here, handling chaos like it was nothing. Seems you've got your own style."
I exhaled slowly, scanning the bar's rows of bottles, the precision of their labels almost hypnotic. "Chaos is easier to manage when it's someone else's," I murmured, arranging my fingers neatly on the counter. "Yours?"
She chuckled softly, low and warm, but there was a shadow in her eyes. "Mine," she said, "was more… hands-on. People, drinks, fights that sometimes came with a free round of broken glass. You have to be ready for anything. Step by step."
She leaned back, watching me over the rim of her glass.
"You not kind of person easily to talk to, miss Anna.." Her tone wasn't judgmental, just observant. "I get it. You notice everything, fix what can be fixed. Even small stuff. Makes sense… considering everything you've been through."
How did she know my world through my eyes like that.
My fingers tightened on the coaster. She noticed. I glanced at the Margarita waiting in front of me, the pale green lime slice perfectly balanced on the rim.
Her eyes didn't leave mine, and for a moment, the noise of the pub—the low chatter, the clinking glasses, the hum of the old fridge behind the bar—fell away. I could feel her watching not just the small, precise world I built around me, but the world inside my head. The careful alignments, the minor rituals, the little shields I relied on to stay steady.
"You notice everything," I said quietly, my voice barely rising above the soft music playing in the background. "Even things I don't think anyone would."
"Accidentally" she said, her eye never leaves her cup of tea in front of her face.
I exhaled slowly, letting my shoulders drop just a fraction. Her words weren't judgment, but understanding—an unsettling, quiet recognition that unsettled me even as it calmed me.
I lifted the Margarita slightly, careful not to disturb the lime, the glass now a symbol of my control in this tiny, charged moment. "And yet," I said, almost whispering, "you still think you can… guide me."
"Tell me if you have enough ability to take this small deal, or you just being here, trying to outsmart me?" I put the glass down firmly on the table with a soft thud.
Her gaze sharpened, teasing, playful, but edged with challenge. "Maybe," she said. "Maybe I just want to walk beside you and see if you let me, there are so many things I would like to show you."
"My friend, Livia," Maya began, "she is the greatest stalker ever."
She practically smirked, clearly taking that as a compliment for her friend "Professional level," she said proudly, adjusting her cup of tea. "If Serena Löwendeld breathes, blinks, or sneezes in public, she probably already have the footage, but unfortunately, she passed away.."
I tilted my head slightly, letting her voice flow over me like background noise, though every word etched itself somewhere deep in my mind.
"Not only reservations history, she could even know why she did and when did sh—.."
"Interesting " I cut her off.
"You have a lot of things to know and study, you know.." I take a sip, feeling the alcohol burning down my throat.
"So," Maya said, leaning forward, her voice calm but edged with expectation, "about the project. You help us track the Löwendeld family, their history, connections… and in return, we—"
"I thought we would be so honest to each other, miss Maya?" I said quietly. "Just two of us, there is no we in here.."
"You bring me what I want. I give your sister what she needs and we end," I leaning back the chair, "money, you need it, so you have to play by my terms to have it.."
Her gaze faltered for a moment, nervous, confused, such a wild kitten. A feeling of addiction flowing in my blood veins,
This is how we play, how wealthy people using their money to turn what they think is impossible to possible.
"After three days," I said quietly, sliding the empty glass toward the bartender, "quit that place."
Maya blinked. "What?"
I didn't repeat myself. Instead, I reached into my coat pocket, pulled out a folded slip of paper, and placed it between us on the bar — my handwriting neat, controlled, precise.
"I'll give you a new life," I continued, voice steady but cold enough to leave no room for negotiation. "Your sister — a chance to live. That's all."
The pub's dim lights flickered slightly, reflected in the half-empty Margarita glass. I could see her reflection through it — uncertain, trembling, but still trying to look strong. The way her fingers tightened on her own drink reminded me of my mother's — how she'd clutch the steering wheel the night everything burned away in the storm.
"And didn't you even accepted it, I heard it clearly with my ears..," .
She stared at me, jaw tight, eyes flaring with something between fear and pride. "Why are you doing this?"
I looked down at the lime slice floating in the drink, its green skin shining faintly under the yellow light. "Because your sister's not the only one who deserves a second chance," I murmured. "And because you remind me of someone who I thought I could forget forever "
An image of a young girl, eyes full of defiance and fire flashed in my mind, she shivering under the snow sky, knuckles bleeding cause of rock and dehydration, lips swollen from drying—my pathetic version when i still in training sessions in Moscow, now being shown up all in one presence in front of my face—Maya.
I stood, pulling my coat tighter around my shoulders. "Three days," I repeated, turning away. "After that, we'll see what kind of person you really are."
The sound of rain followed me out the door — soft, endless, and familiar.