Georg arrived at his office alone, the echo of the chaos outside fading as he shut the door behind him. The room was dimly lit, the faint glow of the streetlights barely filtering through the heavy curtains. He didn't bother turning on a lamp. Instead, he sank into his chair, his elbows resting on the desk, his hands running through his hair.
For a long moment, he sat in silence, his chest heaving with the weight of the emotions he'd kept at bay. He had always been able to maintain his composure, to keep his feelings locked away, but now it felt as though they were clawing their way to the surface, demanding release.
He stifled a cry, his teeth gritting against the sound that threatened to escape. It hurt too much—seeing her, talking to her, feeling the anger and betrayal swirl with an undercurrent of something deeper, something he couldn't even name anymore.
Years. He had spent years searching for her, only to give up and let the anger fester like a wound. And now, when he had finally managed to bury that part of himself, there she was. But she wasn't the Maria he remembered. No, this Maria stood against him, her faith and her purpose tied to the people who sought to destroy everything he had built.
He stood abruptly, the need for a drink driving him to his liquor cabinet. His hand slipped into his pocket out of habit, fingers searching for something familiar, something grounding.
He froze.
His brows furrowed as he rummaged deeper into the pocket, his heart sinking as his fingers met only emptiness.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, slamming the cabinet door shut.
He leaned against the desk, his hands gripping the edge tightly, his knuckles white. He should be glad it was gone, he told himself. It was only a relic, a remnant of the past, of a time he should have let go of long ago. But the ache in his chest told a different story.
That rosary had been the last tangible connection to the Maria he used to know—the woman who had slept beside him so peacefully that he had doubted she even knew the feelings of sadness or anger. The woman who had made him believe, for a fleeting moment, that life could be simple and good.
He closed his eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. He should have let it go, just like he should have let her go. But the emptiness in his pocket felt like an open wound, and the thought of her holding it now—if she even realized what it meant—made his chest tighten all over again.
Georg paced the dim office, his mind racing as the old man's cryptic words replayed in his head. "You will know when you've met the woman of your destiny when you lose something most precious to you." The memory was as clear as the day the man had stopped him, his raspy voice and piercing gaze unsettling in their conviction. Georg had dismissed it then, chalking it up to the ramblings of a madman.
But now, the pieces began to align in a way that left him cold.
The rosary. That damn rosary.
He froze mid-step, his breath hitching. Could it really mean something? He shook his head violently, trying to dispel the thought. It was absurd. Destiny? Prophecies? No, he didn't believe in such nonsense. He had built his life on pragmatism, on seizing opportunities, on controlling his own fate.
But Maria.
Her face, her voice, her presence—they stirred something in him he couldn't explain. And the fact that she had been there, in the chaos, and that the rosary was now gone, felt too coincidental. Too deliberate.
"No," he muttered under his breath, his fists clenching at his sides. Destiny be damned, he thought fiercely. That woman hadn't brought light or salvation; she'd brought turmoil and accusations, threatening everything he had fought to protect. She was no angel of destiny—she was a harbinger of chaos.
Yet, a flicker of doubt gnawed at him.
He couldn't risk it.
Big Boy entered the dimly lit office, the sound of rain dripping off his coat and pooling on the floor. He shook himself slightly, water flying from his sleeves, and made his way to the cold fireplace. Kneeling, he struck a match and coaxed a flame to life, its flickering light casting long shadows across the room.
"You should go change, Captain," Big Boy said over his shoulder, his voice low but firm. "We don't want you getting sick in this weather."
For a moment, Georg didn't respond. He stood motionless in the middle of the room, his hands clenched into fists. Then, without a word, he walked away abruptly, brushing past Big Boy.
"Hey, where are you going?" Big Boy called out, rising quickly to follow.
Georg's voice, shaky and urgent, answered as he descended the stairs. "I need to find my rosary."
Big Boy froze for a moment, disbelief crossing his face. He leaned into the stairwell. "Captain, are you serious? You can't go out in this storm for a piece of—" Georg ignored the calls of his employees asking him where he was going, eager to find the rosary.
Outside, the storm raged. Sheets of rain blurred the streetlights, and the wind whipped violently through the narrow alleyways. Big Boy emerged from the building just in time to see Georg striding purposefully down the street, his hair plastered to his forehead and his coat flapping in the wind.
"Captain!" Big Boy yelled, his voice nearly drowned out by the storm. "This is madness! It's just a rosary!"
Georg didn't slow down, his footsteps splashing through the growing puddles. His frantic energy was unmistakable.
The rain pounded relentlessly, plastering Georg's hair to his face and soaking his coat through to the lining. He barely noticed, his entire being consumed with the frantic search. The dim glow of the streetlamps reflected off the slick cobblestones, but their light was meager, doing little to illuminate the ground where he scoured.
He moved through the streets like a man possessed, his eyes scanning every inch of the wet stones. The firetruck's sirens blared as firefighters worked to contain the flames on the building nearby, but Georg didn't even glance their way. His world had narrowed to a singular focus—finding the rosary.
The harsh rain pooled in the gutters, carrying debris and grime along with it. Georg dropped to his knees at the edge of the drainage canal, plunging his hands into the filthy water without hesitation. Cold and thick with mud, it numbed his fingers as he searched desperately, throwing aside leaves and other refuse that clogged the flow.
The sharp clatter of objects hitting the pavement echoed as he cast aside remnants of the protesters' chaos—broken signs, discarded cans—but nothing in his hands brought the faintest sense of relief. Panic clawed at his chest, and each second stretched unbearably.
As the minutes dragged on and the rain showed no sign of mercy, Georg's movements slowed. His energy drained, and the crushing weight of defeat bore down on him. He knelt in the middle of the street, his head bowed, his soaked frame shivering with exhaustion and despair. He didn't flinch as the rain lashed against him or as the mud from the canal stained his hands and clothes.
Big Boy's voice reached him faintly over the storm. Georg didn't look up, didn't respond. Heavy footsteps splashed closer until the larger man loomed over him, a steadying presence amidst the chaos.
"Captain..." Big Boy's voice softened as he crouched beside him. He didn't press, didn't scold, only placed a firm arm around Georg's trembling shoulders and helped him to his feet.
Georg didn't resist, didn't say a word. His gaze remained distant as Big Boy guided him back toward the warmth of the club, shielding him as best as he could from the relentless storm.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
Maria walked along the quiet corridors of the convent, hands clutching her robe tightly around her. The evening air was still, save for the faint echoes of her footsteps. It had been an exhausting day, one that hadn't gone anywhere near how she had envisioned.
Her mind churned with fragmented thoughts as she replayed the events over and over. She should've been stronger, more composed, more faithful to the path she had set for herself. Yet, when she saw him standing there, panic and anger had surged like a tidal wave, drowning her resolve.
Many words had gone unspoken—words she had longed to say to him for years. Words that might have brought her clarity or closure. But instead, her emotions had gotten the better of her, and now she was left with the lingering sting of his harsh accusations and the humiliation of his actions.
Maria paused briefly in the corridor, her hand brushing against the cool stone of the wall for support. She felt a pang of regret as she remembered the moment she agreed to join the Alliance's cause. There had been a voice inside her—a small, uneasy whisper—that told her it must not be the right path. But she had ignored it, letting herself be carried along by others' convictions instead of listening to her own.
"They wanted to kick us out of this place because of their greed. You know that, right?"
His words echoed in her mind. They unsettled her more than she wanted to admit. Was there truth in them? Maria had joined the Alliance because she believed in their mission, in their vision of protecting the community and upholding values of fairness and compassion. But now, doubt crept in. Could there be another side to the story she hadn't considered?
Her stomach twisted as she remembered the bitterness in Georg's voice and the raw anger in his eyes. He truly believed she had come to destroy the life he had built. How had it come to this?
And yet...
Maria stopped in front of her room and pressed her palm against the door, closing her eyes briefly. When he called her darling, something inside her had shifted. She despised the audacity of the word, despised the way he said it as if it still held meaning after all this time. But even now, hours later, her heart betrayed her. His touch on her wrist had sparked something she couldn't name.
Shaking her head, she opened the door and stepped inside. Her room was small, simple—a wooden bed neatly made, a lone desk by the window, and a crucifix hanging on the wall. She moved toward the desk and sank into the chair, staring out of the window into the darkness beyond.
Her hands trembled slightly as she clasped them in her lap. Everything she had thought was certain now felt tangled and uncertain. All she knew was that something had shifted, and she couldn't tell if it was for better or worse.
Opening the desk drawer, Maria carefully lifted out the wooden rosary she had found in Stuwerviertel. It felt oddly heavy in her hands, not from its weight but from the significance it seemed to carry. She could still hear the storm in her mind—the rumble of thunder and the blinding flashes of lightning that lit up the night sky. It had been chaotic, almost apocalyptic, as if the heavens themselves had been trying to send a message.
The rosary had been there amidst it all, waiting for her. No one in the Alliance had claimed it, which puzzled her. How could something so sacred end up in a place like that? Stuwerviertel—a place known for its shadows and sin. Yet someone there had kept their faith, silently, steadfastly. Or had they?
Maria traced the smooth beads with her fingers, her thoughts swirling. There was something hauntingly familiar about this rosary. She couldn't place it, but it stirred a deep sense of nostalgia, a connection she couldn't name.
Her gaze drifted upward, to the simple wooden cross hanging above her bed. The faint moonlight from the window illuminated it just enough to make it gleam. She let out a small whisper, the words barely audible in the stillness of her room.
"Did it mean I performed a miracle, or did I not?"
The presence of the rosary in the red-light district was a contradiction she couldn't shake. Was it discarded out of disrespect? A challenge to the faith she and others in the Alliance were trying to uphold? Or was it something else—evidence that even in a place riddled with darkness, there was still a spark of belief, a flicker of hope?
She tightened her grip around the rosary, her knuckles whitening as determination filled her. No, she couldn't afford to lose faith—not in the people of that place, not in God, and not in herself.
Evil wasn't something that could be eradicated in a single moment, she realized. It lingered, intertwined with good, testing the limits of both. But faith wasn't about sweeping victories; it was about perseverance. She couldn't give up, not now, not ever.