Set about one year after the end of Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest.
With her eyes still closed, Lisbeth Salander's hand fumbled around on the nightstand until her fingers closed around her iPhone. Phone finally in hand, she opened her eyes, squinting narrowly to focus on the numbers on the glowing screen. 12:36 PM.
With a tired sigh, she tried to remember what day it was. After a couple seconds of debate, she decided it was Tuesday. Definitely Tuesday, she thought.
She had a splitting headache, a remnant of the night before. Rummaging through the drawer of her nightstand, she found a bottle of Ibuprofen and chased three pills with a gulp of water. In the future, she should really try to remember that drinking at home alone out of boredom on a Monday night was a recipe for a gigantic hangover.
Closing her eyes against the light from the windows, Lisbeth thought about the day ahead, but there wasn't much to think about.
She didn't have any work to do. Dragan Armansky had fewer and fewer assignments for her since Milton Security was focusing their work in areas other than personal investigations. This didn't necessarily bother Lisbeth; the reality was that very few of Armansky's projects were challenging, and even fewer were interesting. Too often assignments were inconsequential investigations of potential employees on behalf of a company. Not exactly intriguing work. Staying in bed sounded more rewarding than that.
Still holding her iPhone in her hand, Lisbeth's eyes scanned over the icons on the screen. She saw that she had a new voice mail. She tapped the voicemail icon, prompting a familiar voice to emerge from the phone:
"Lisbeth, it's me. Call me when you get this."
She shook her head and sighed. Kalle Fucking Blomkvist.
It had been more than a year since the night she let Mikael into her apartment and back into her life. It had been an impulsive decision; she hadn't necessarily wanted him in her life, but after everything that happened, it seemed wrong to shut someone out who, for whatever reason, still wanted to be her friend.
Lisbeth was not in the habit of looking for friends and never had been. But she had so few friends in this world that it seemed stupid to throw away the one she did have, even though that's exactly what her not-entirely-healed-heart would have preferred on that chilly November evening.
As time passed, Lisbeth became more accustomed to having Mikael back in her life, but that didn't mean that always liked it. There were moments when the pain was as acute as the snowy night she saw him with Erika Berger years earlier.
But, at other times, she was reminded of why she fell for him in the first place: he didn't judge her for being different. As the months progressed, she realized that she needed this in her life, regardless of whether it came in the form of a friend or a lover. And so Lisbeth settled into a strange-sort of friendship with Mikael.
But things had become more strained recently. He had been dropping by her apartment more frequently, and it always seemed to come on days when she hadn't gotten out of bed or had quite obviously drank too much the night before. It was like he had a sixth sense about when she didn't want to see him. And here he was again today, a thorn in her side when what she really wanted was to be left alone.
With that thought, she tapped delete, and pulled the covers over her face.
Two hours and five insistent calls later, Lisbeth walked into the coffee shop near the Millennium office. Mikael was already sitting at a table with two cups of coffee in front of him.
Lisbeth, with wet locks of black hair sticking from under an olive green winter hat, sunk into the chair across from him and immediately reached for the coffee.
"Rough night, huh?" Mikael asked.
Lisbeth thought about saying something snarky in return, but instead decided to focus on her coffee. After a few long sips, Lisbeth broke the silence, admitting, "I may have had a little too much to drink last night."
"Ah, I never would have guessed," Mikael teased. He was tempted to press for details, but he had learned long ago that she would offer details only on her own terms.
But Lisbeth didn't offer more details, and instead just asked, "You said you had something to talk to me about?"
"I got a call from Bublanski this morning. He didn't have your contact info and couldn't reach you through Annika since she's been out of the country. Interpol has arrested two men who they believe are your half-brothers in Poland. They were linked to the human trafficking and drug running that Zalachenko and Niedermann were involved with."
Lisbeth lifted her eyes from her coffee mug when she heard her father's name.
Mikael continued, "Interpol - and Bublanski seems to agree - that your half-brothers and the small band of co-conspirators that were arrested are the last of Zalachenko's network."
He waited for her reaction, but was met with the same dark eyes and expressionless mouth.
"Do you know what this means? It's over, Lisbeth. This whole fucked-up mess is over. You have your freedom and no one from Zalachenko's club is going to bother you ever again."
Lisbeth sat across from Mikael, channeling every ounce of determination towards hiding her feelings from her face and body language. It was something that was second nature to her, but sitting across from Kalle Fucking Blomkvist - who knew more about her than any other living human – made it harder.
She wanted to scream at Mikael, to wipe the smile off his face by telling him that today's news meant nothing to her. To make him understand that she still lived in the prison that was her life. Zalachencko, Ronald Niedermann and countless other awful, evil men may be dead or locked-up, but she was still Lisbeth Salander. She had money and freedom, but it didn't change the fact that she had no job, no family, and no future.
She suddenly became aware that Mikael was waiting for her to say something, to respond in some way to the news he had just delivered. She settled on something simple: "Thanks for letting me know."
As she spoke these words, her mouth remained expressionless but her eyes offered a fleeting glimpse of emotion to Mikael. She looked resigned and unhappy.
For what seemed like the millionth time in his life, Mikael felt certain that he could never fully understand Lisbeth Salander. She was certainly never a victim and had proven over and over again that she was tougher than nails. But there she was, sitting across the table from him, and he couldn't help but see that under the surface she was far more vulnerable than she let on.
Lisbeth saw the confused expression on Mikael's face and knew she needed to get out of this coffee shop. She started to get up to leave, but Mikael grabbed her arm with force that startled her.
"Hey, what's going on?" Mikael asked. "You're not happy."
She sunk back into the chair, twisting her arm from his grip.
"It's none of your god damn business, but no, I'm not happy. Satisfied that you have figured me out for once, Kalle?"
"Oh, shut up Pippi. I don't claim – or even pretend – to understand you. Either you can sulk about whatever is bothering you, or you can do something about it. I've never pegged you as the woman who chooses to sulk."
Lisbeth remained silent, only returning his comments with a glare.
Mikael continued: "Look, I know you don't like talking about yourself. I get that, I swear I do. But I'm your friend, and I wouldn't be worth much if I didn't call you out on your bullshit. Do you think I'm blind, Lisbeth? Every time I see or talk to you, you are either drunk, high, hung-over, or asleep."
Lisbeth eyed the door, wanting nothing more than to escape what was becoming an increasingly uncomfortable conversation. She was furious at Mikael for having the nerve to question what she did with her life, but on the other hand, her unhappiness had reached a level where it was difficult to ignore, even for her.
"Lisbeth, you are obviously unhappy. Tell me why, and we can come up with a plan to fix it."
Lisbeth nearly exploded. It was just like Kalle Fucking Blomkvist to think that he could wave a magic wand and make her train-wreck of a life all better.
"You think you can fix me and my fucked-up life, huh? Can you make the paparazzi stop following me? Can you get me a job that doesn't involve illegally digging around in people's lives? Can you bring my mother back from the dead? Fuck you, Kalle Blomkvist. Fuck you."
With that, she stormed out into the streets of Stockholm, just as the snow began to fall.
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