Aelita sits in her late afternoon pedagogy class, the drone of the teacher's voice blending with the soft hum of the heating system. Her textbook lays open on the desk in front of her, but her attention has long since drifted away. Instead of absorbing the nuances of music pedagogy, her gaze fixes on the window. Outside, the sky is a dull grey, the sun hidden behind a thick layer of clouds.
The sound of her phone incessantly vibrating brings her back to reality. She pulls it out of her pocket and sees that she has a bunch of new messages in the book club group chat.
Nina: happy hour tonight? mama needs a drink
Sissi: yesssss
Laure: same wtfff
Margaux: let's go to au bureau, they have half-off margs on thursdays
Sissi: i'm so there
Nina: aelitaaaaaaa
Aelita smiles to herself and types out a quick response.
Aelita: count me in
Laure: hell yeah
Margaux: wooooooo
Sissi: see you ladies at 5
Aelita—as introverted as she tends to be—enjoys her time with the girls. They're a fun, lively group and always manage to bring a smile to her face.
When class finally ends, she makes her way to Sissi's dorm room, unsurprised to find her friends already there.
"Now that Aelita's here," Laure starts, "who's up for a night out on the town?"
"I am," Nina replies.
"Me too," Margaux adds.
"I'm always up for a party," Sissi says.
The girls arrive at the bar and are immediately greeted by the sounds of music and laughter. The atmosphere is warm and inviting, and the smell of alcohol and fried food permeates the air.
"This place is great," Laure says.
"Bring on the drinks," Margaux agrees. "It's party time!"
"There's a free spot over there," Nina points out. "Let's go grab it before someone else does."
They settle into a booth near the back of the bar and order a round of drinks.
"So," Sissi begins, "what's everyone's plans this weekend? Odd and I have an extra spicy date night planned."
"How cute," Margaux answers sarcastically. "The guy I've been seeing is taking me to a concert east of the city. Somewhere in Montreuil."
Nina asks, "Ooh, do you know who's playing?"
"Not a clue. He showed me a band list and I hadn't heard of any of the groups. It's some local indie rock thing."
"That sounds like that cheesy thing they do in movies. What do Americans call it? Band Battle or something?"
"I'm looking forward to it, honestly. Might be fun."
"What about you, Aelita?" Sissi asks.
"Hmm?"
"What are you up to this weekend?"
"Oh, nothing much. I'd like to go to the Versailles game and watch William play, but I have to study for midterms. So I'm not sure."
"Ugh, don't remind me," Laure groans.
"I know, right? I'm so not ready."
"Neither am I."
"I'm sure you'll all do fine," Margaux says. "Can't be as bad as me, I think I've been behind from the beginning of the semester.
"Well, you basically never study, so that's a you problem," Nina replies.
"Well, whatever happens, we'll all at least survive," Sissi says, taking a sip of her water. "In theory."
Margaux laughs. "That's the spirit!"
"So, Aelita," Laure begins, "how are things going with William anyway?"
"Oh, um, things are good," Aelita stammers, caught off guard by the question.
"That's it? Just good? Details, girl, c'mon!"
"Yeah, we're...we're doing well."
Laure stares are Aelita flatly. "Do you guys even have a wedding date yet?"
"No, not yet."
"Why not?"
"I don't know. I guess we're just taking things slow. We haven't really talked about it, yet."
Thankfully, the waitress arrives with their drinks, saving Aelita from further interrogation.
"Finally," Laure sighs. "I'm dying of thirst over here."
"Same," Nina agrees.
"To a successful round of midterms," Sissi toasts, raising her glass.
"Cheers," the others chorus, clinking their glasses together.
"So, anyone know the latest gossip?" Margaux asks.
"I heard that Jean-Baptiste and Marie broke up," Nina says.
"No way! They were so cute together."
"I know, right. I wonder what happened."
"Who knows? He must have cheated on her or something."
Sissi gasps. "Or maybe she cheated on him."
"Or, y'know, maybe they just grew apart," Aelita says with a shrug. "People at Kadic love to gossip, but there's almost never a real story behind it."
"True," Laure concedes. "After all, the rumor mill really did you and William dirty."
"Case in point," Aelita chuckles. "I still see people staring at us."
The night continues on with the girls talking and laughing, enjoying each other's company.
When they leave the bar, the girls are buzzed and full of excitement. The night air is crisp and alive with the vibrant energy of camaraderie. Laughter echoes off the surrounding buildings as they stroll along the illuminated streets, the remnants of their lively evening at the bar.
"I'm so glad we did this," Laure says.
"Me too," Sissi agrees.
"We should do it more often," Margaux suggests.
"I'm down," Aelita chimes in.
Eventually, the group says their goodbyes and gives their parting hugs to one another, and Aelita finds herself meandering home on her own, lost in thought. As she rounds a corner, a tear makes its way down her cheek. She brushes it away, not understanding why she's crying. At least, not until she pulls out her phone and remembers what day it is.
It's her late mother's birthday.
Anthea Schaeffer was a kind, loving woman who was taken from Aelita far too soon. She misses her mother dearly, and today is suddenly a particularly difficult day for her. She stops walking and leans against a nearby tree, her emotions threatening to overwhelm her.
Anthea lies in bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a gentle warmth across her room, the guest bedroom of her mother's cottage. Her gaze fixates on the ceiling, but her thoughts seem to wander through the recesses of her mind. Shadows dance on the walls, a subtle interplay of light and darkness that mirrors the complexities within her.
She's spending the night of her own birthday thinking about her daughter, of course—about the likelihood of her having survived whatever left the Swiss cabin in a violent disarray all those years ago.
Her heart aches at the thought of her precious baby girl, alone and afraid, perhaps even dead.
Anthea closes her eyes and tries to push the negative thoughts away, but they persist, a constant reminder of the pain and loss she's endured. She rolls over and buries her face in her pillow, willing the tears to stop.
It's no use. The dam has broken, and the floodgates are open. She cries for her daughter, for the life they could have had together, for the memories they'll never get to make. Anthea's sobs are muffled by the pillow, but the anguish is still evident.
She's not sure how long she stays like that, but eventually, the tears subside, and the ache in her chest lessens. Her breathing slows, and her body relaxes.
Anthea falls asleep, her dreams filled with images of her daughter.
"Be careful out there, Anthea," Antoinette warns.
"I will," Anthea promises. "It's just a quick trip to see Emelie again for my hair cut and coloring. I'll be back before you know it."
"I know, but with those men still out there, I can't help but worry."
"I'll be fine, Mother. I can take care of myself."
"I know you can, but you're not invincible. Please, just be careful."
"I will. I promise."
With that, Anthea heads through the door, adjusting the cap upon her head, determined to enjoy her day despite the lingering threat of danger.
The train station is bustling with activity, and Anthea easily blends in with the crowd. She boards the train and settles into her seat, eager to see her stylist.
The ride is uneventful, and before she knows it, the train is pulling into the station.
However, as Anthea steps off the train, the cap on her head flies off when the air pressure changes. She tries to grab for it, but it's too late. It lands on the platform, and a passing man picks it up.
"Excuse me, miss," the man calls out. "Is this yours?"
Anthea turns around and sees the man holding her cap. "Yes, it is," she replies, taking the cap from him. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," the man says, smiling.
Anthea puts the cap back on her head. As she does, the man's eyes follow her hands, and she watches as his smile falters when he sees her pink roots.
"Everything okay?" she asks.
"Yes, just fine," the man replies, his smile returning. "Have a nice day."
"You too."
Anthea continues on her way, unaware of the danger that lurks just around the corner.
The man watches as Anthea walks away, the gears in his mind turning. He pulls out his phone and dials a number. "Boss, I think I found her."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive. I saw pink roots."
"Excellent work. Bring her to me."
"Yes, sir."
The man hangs up and follows Anthea, keeping a safe distance.
Meanwhile, Anthea continues on her way, oblivious to the danger that awaits her.
Malachi Voss's henchman is hot on her trail, his eyes fixed on her every move. "Gotcha," he whispers.
He watches from afar as Anthea enters the hair salon and signs in at the front desk.
"Hello, and welcome to Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow," the receptionist says. "How can I help you?"
"I have an appointment with Emelie," Anthea replies.
"Of course. Right this way."
The henchman waits until Anthea is out of sight before making his move. He casually walks into the salon and pretends to browse the products on display.
"Can I help you?" the receptionist asks.
"No, I'm just looking," the henchman replies.
"Alright, let me know if you need anything."
"Will do."
The henchman continues to browse the products, his eyes constantly scanning the area for any sign of Anthea.
He spots her greeting Emelie and heading towards the back of the salon. He watches Anthea remove the cap from her head and hand it to Emelie.
"Hey, Em," Anthea says.
"Hi, Anthea," Emelie replies. "Ready for your touch-up?"
"Yes, please."
"Great. Have a seat and I'll get started."
The henchman waits until the coast is clear before sneaking into the back of the salon. He hides behind a rack of towels and watches as Emelie works on Anthea's hair.
"So, how have you been?" Emelie asks.
"I've been good," Anthea replies. "Busy with work and everything."
"That's good. How's the job search going?"
"It's going well. I have a few leads, so I'm hopeful."
"That's great. I'm sure you'll find something soon."
"Thanks, Em."
"Anytime."
The henchman watches for about a half an hour, until Emelie finishes up Anthea's hair.
"All done," Emelie says. "What do you think?"
"It looks great as always," Anthea replies, admiring her once again fully brunette reflection in the mirror. "Thank you."
"My pleasure. Come back and see me soon, okay?"
"I will."
The henchman quickly slips out of the salon, unnoticed.
Anthea pays for her touch-up and leaves the salon, unaware that she's being watched. As she makes her way back to the train station, she notices something.
The man from earlier in the day—the one who picked up her cap for her—is now following her.
Anthea quickens her pace, trying to lose him, but he keeps up with her. She turns a corner and ducks into an alleyway, hoping to lose him, but he's right behind her. She knows she has no choice so she breaks into a run. She runs as fast as she can, her heart pounding in her chest.
But it's no use. He's gaining on her.
She can hear his footsteps behind her, getting closer and closer. She keeps running, her lungs burning.
She runs straight into a crowd, pushing and shoving her way through people while apologetically shouting "excuse me" and "pardon me."
She can hear the henchman's voice calling out to her, but she doesn't stop.
She keeps running, her heart racing. Then she spots her reprieve, a train with its doors open. She sprints toward it, putting one last burst of energy into her already fatigued legs.
She reaches the train just as the doors are closing and manages to squeeze through, her heart pounding. She collapses onto the floor and a young couple nearby asks her if she's okay.
She's safe.
For now.
Anthea makes her way back home, her senses on high alert the rest of the way.
Dr. Malachi Voss sits in his office, his eyes fixed on the photo he often stares at, his anger and frustration growing with each passing second.
"Where are you, Anthea?" he mutters. "I know you're out there, and I will find you."
His phone rings, interrupting his thoughts.
"What is it?" he snaps.
"Sir, I have news about Anthea," the henchman says.
"Well, what is it?"
"I saw her in the city. She was getting her hair colored."
"Did you successfully capture her like I asked?"
"No, sir. I lost her in a crowd."
"You what?!"
"I'm sorry, sir. I tried my best."
"Your best isn't good enough! Find her and bring her to me!"
"Yes, sir."
Malachi hangs up the phone and throws it across the room, his anger boiling over.
Time passes, and the very same henchman enters the lobby of Voss's office.
Malachi looks up from his laptop, his eyes following the henchman as he approaches. He stands up and pushes his chair in. He makes his way out to the lobby, making a beeline straight for the henchman. When he gets to him, he circles him like a hawk. "Well?" he asks.
"I'm sorry, boss," the henchman says.
"You're sorry? You're sorry? That's all you have to show for your efforts, a pathetic, useless apology?"
"I tried my best, but she got away."
"Then, like I said, your best isn't good enough," Malachi sneers, grabbing the henchman by the arm. In one swift movement, he pulls and twists on the henchman's arm, dislocating his shoulder with a horrifying crunch.
The henchman screams in pain, his eyes wide with fear.
"If you can't bring her to me, then you're of no use to me," Malachi growls, his eyes cold and calculating.
"Please, boss," the henchman begs. "I'll do better next time, I promise."
"There won't be a next time," Malachi says, his voice low and dangerous. "You're fired."
"But, boss—"
"Get out of my sight," Malachi orders, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Before I kill you."
The henchman scurries out of the office, his dislocated shoulder throbbing with pain.
Malachi watches him go, his anger simmering just below the surface. He straightens his tie as he returns to his desk, his mind already plotting his next move. His eyes flit to the photo again. It's a photo of a younger Anthea and him together, smiling and hand-in-hand. Anthea's head is resting on Malachi's shoulder, her eyes shining with happiness.
Malachi's jaw clenches at the memory. "Oh, Thea," he murmurs. "My dear, sweet Thea. You can run all you want, but you can't hide forever. Mark my words. I will find you. And I will bring you back to me."