The day had been a rare reprieve for Georg. Spending time with his old friends—those who had stood by him despite the scandal that tarnished his name—offered him a chance to laugh, to reminisce, to feel a flicker of normalcy. Yet as the evening drew to a close, and he returned to the quiet sanctuary of the club he now called home, the weight of reality settled back over him.

He stepped into the common room, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet, and saw Lilian perched at the bar. She was chatting amiably with a couple of the other employees, her easy laugh cutting through the subdued atmosphere. But as soon as she spotted him, her expression shifted—still warm, but tinged with purpose.

"Georg," she called, motioning him over. He approached, loosening his scarf and rubbing his hands together against the lingering cold of the Vienna night. "Max called earlier."

"Max?" Georg echoed, his brows lifting in surprise. It wasn't unusual for Max to call, but something in Lilian's tone made him pause.

She nodded, leaning forward slightly, her voice quieter now. "He said your ex-fiancée had come back to Vienna."

Georg froze, his scarf halfway undone. The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. His mind raced as he turned to her sharply. "Elsa?"

Lilian gave a small nod of confirmation, her expression cautious. "Yes. Apparently, Max owes a friend a favor. A reporter, it seems."

Georg's frown deepened, the name stirring a mix of emotions he wasn't ready to confront. "A reporter?" he repeated, his voice clipped.

"Yes," Lilian continued. "This friend asked Max to get... something from you. A statement, a reaction—anything they could use in their piece about her. Max thought you'd want to know. He said to call him at his hotel before nine if you have anything you want to say."

Georg didn't respond immediately. His hands gripped the edge of the bar as he stared past Lilian, his mind already unraveling the implications of Elsa's return. Whatever tranquility he'd found earlier in the day had vanished entirely, replaced by a swirl of unease and questions. Lilian watched him carefully but didn't press further.

Georg left the common room without a word, his steps heavy as he climbed the stairs to his office. When he reached the door, he hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, flipping on the light to reveal the familiar confines of his sanctuary.

He moved to the cabinet where he usually kept a stash of schnapps, instinctively reaching for a bottle only to remember with a pang of irritation that it was empty. Letting out a quiet sigh, he settled for pouring himself a glass of water from the carafe on his desk.

The sound of footsteps behind him made him glance over his shoulder. Lilian stood at the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, a playful grin tugging at her lips.

"Isn't it eating at you?" she asked, crossing her arms. "Aren't you curious? What she's doing now? Whether she's married, got a new boyfriend, or if she's sitting somewhere drowning in regret for leaving you?"

Georg turned back to his desk, sipping his water in deliberate silence.

Lilian stepped into the room, her tone light but teasing. "If I were you, I wouldn't let this pass. I'd call the reporter, tell them I'm thriving without Elsa, living my best life. Why let her have the satisfaction of thinking she still matters?"

"It's a waste of time," Georg said, his tone clipped as he set his glass down with more force than he intended. He moved toward the door, intending to leave the conversation behind, but Lilian wasn't finished.

"Who knows when you'll get another chance for some sweet revenge?" she said, her voice lilting with a mixture of mischief and earnestness.

Georg stopped, his hand on the doorknob. Slowly, he turned to face her, his expression unreadable.

Lilian smirked, leaning on the edge of his desk now. "I wouldn't let the opportunity slip through my fingers," she said. "So, are you going to call?"

Georg shook his head, his voice quiet but firm. "I don't know," he admitted. His gaze drifted to the floor, the conflict within him palpable.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The club was alive with its usual chaos—laughter, music, and the clinking of glasses merging into a vibrant cacophony. Yet Georg moved through the crowd with purpose, his eyes fixed ahead as he navigated the sea of people. He barely registered the occasional greetings or nods from familiar faces, his focus narrowed on his destination.

When he reached the bar, it was no surprise to see Lilian perched comfortably on one of the stools, her posture relaxed as though she had been waiting for him. She looked up from her drink, her ever-present smile tilting her lips.

"Hello, Georg," she greeted, her tone as light and teasing as always.

He barely acknowledged her with a curt nod, his expression stern as he walked past her and headed directly to the phone tucked behind the bar.

Georg's hand hovered over the receiver for a moment before he turned to Karl and asked, "What time is it?"

Before Karl could answer, Lilian chimed in without missing a beat. "It's eight-thirty," she said, her voice carrying an air of amusement as she watched him.

Georg gave her a glance but said nothing in return. Instead, he straightened his shoulders and picked up the receiver.

"I'm going to make a call," he said firmly, his voice cutting through the surrounding noise with quiet determination.

Lilian arched a brow, her interest piqued as she leaned slightly closer, her drink forgotten.

"And what will you ask?" she inquired, her curiosity evident.

Georg didn't respond immediately. He turned his back to her, gripping the phone tightly as he dialed the number. When he finally spoke, it was more to himself than to her, his voice low but resolute. "A question that's been stuck in my mind."

The receiver felt heavy in Georg's hand as he held it to his ear. With practiced precision, he inputted the number on the rotary dial, the clicking sound filling the brief silence. Behind him, the hum of the club faded into the background.

Lilian, ever curious, had nudged an unsuspecting guest aside to position herself closer to the bar. She leaned in slightly, straining to hear the conversation with thinly veiled interest.

When the other end finally clicked, Max's familiar voice came through, casual and expectant. "What do you want to ask her?" he said, the question straightforward but weighted.

Georg froze. His confidence, so firmly resolved moments ago, slipped through his fingers like sand. His grip on the receiver tightened as if it might somehow help him find the words. But the silence stretched too long, the pressure in his chest building until he abruptly hung up the phone.

The sound of the receiver hitting the cradle startled Lilian. She studied his face as he turned, her usual playful expression replaced with genuine concern.

"Forget it," Georg said firmly, brushing past her and heading for the exit.

Lilian quickly followed, her heels clicking against the pavement as they emerged onto the quiet street. The cool night air was a sharp contrast to the bustling warmth of the club. They walked in silence for a while, their steps synchronized as they moved side by side.

Unable to hold her curiosity any longer, Lilian glanced at him. "What did you want to ask her?" she probed, her tone softer than usual.

Georg kept his eyes forward, his hands stuffed into his pockets. "It doesn't matter anymore," he said simply, the finality in his voice cutting off any further questioning.

Lilian hesitated, sensing the weight of his words.

"Looking forward," Georg added after a pause, his voice quieter now, "is the only way to go."

They continued walking, the sounds of the city at night their only accompaniment.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Max followed Georg into the dimly lit office, his steps cautious as he closed the door behind him. Georg strode ahead, his movements sharp and tense. Without a word, he yanked open a desk drawer, rummaging through its contents until he found a cigar and a lighter.

The flick of the lighter broke the silence, a small flame illuminating Georg's face as he lit the cigar. He inhaled deeply, exhaling a plume of smoke into the still air. Turning to Max, his expression was hardened, his voice cutting through the room like a blade.

"Did she really say that?" Georg demanded, his gaze piercing. "That I enjoy wallowing in self-pity? That I adore suffering?"

Max remained still, leaning against the doorframe. His silence stretched on, but it only seemed to feed Georg's frustration.

"And that she ended our betrothal because she already had someone else who was so much better than me?" Georg continued, his tone bitter.

Max finally spoke, his voice calm yet probing. "Did you know about that?" he asked. "The fact there was someone else in the middle of your betrothal?"

Georg turned away, pacing toward the window. He stood there for a moment, looking out at the dark streets of Stuwerviertel. The dim lights below cast long shadows on the walls, flickering as though mirroring his turmoil.

He took another drag from his cigar before turning back to Max, his expression unreadable but his voice steady. "One day," he said, his words deliberate, "people will know the truth. Everyone will know. And when they do, it'll leave them in shock."

Max tilted his head, watching him closely. "When will that day come?" he asked, his curiosity tinged with concern.

Georg smirked faintly, the corner of his lips barely lifting. "On the day I leave Stuwerviertel," he said, his tone carrying a weight that left no room for doubt.

The room fell into an uneasy silence, the air thick with unspoken tension. Georg broke the silence, his voice sharp. "What else did you hear from Elsa's interview?"

Max shrugged, his hands slipping into his pockets. "I already told you everything," he said nonchalantly, though his eyes stayed fixed on his friend, watching for a reaction.

Georg turned away, pacing slowly across the room as if trying to work off the anger simmering beneath his skin. Max stepped closer, his tone softening as he asked, "Then why did you give up yesterday? Why didn't you ask your question when you had the chance?"

Georg paused mid-step, his back still to Max. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint crackle of the cigar and the muted hum of the club's activity outside the office walls.

Turning back toward Max, Georg exhaled slowly, the smoke hanging between them. "I didn't want to ask anything," he said evenly, his voice devoid of the earlier agitation.

Max frowned, tilting his head slightly. "Then why did you call?"

Georg walked around him, circling like a restless predator, before finally stopping by his desk. "Because you were being kind to me," he admitted, setting the cigar down in an ashtray with deliberate care. He looked at Max, his expression unreadable. "And I wanted to be kind to you, too."

Max blinked, taken aback by the simplicity of the answer. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the words hanging in the air like a fragile truce. Finally, Max gave a small nod, his lips curving into a faint smile.

Max leaned against the desk, crossing his arms as he studied Georg, "I'll only believe it if you swear," he said, his tone teasing but laced with challenge.

Georg's frown deepened, his fingers tightening around the cigar. "I won't swear," he said firmly. "It's a sin to do such over trivial matters."

"Do you even believe in sin?" Max countered, raising a brow, clearly amused at the deflection.

Georg took another deliberate puff from his cigar, his gaze steady. "I've always been God-fearing," he said simply, the weight of his words cutting through the playful tone Max had been trying to maintain.

Max straightened, his smirk fading as he regarded his friend more seriously. He watched as Georg sat back in his chair, the leather creaking faintly under his weight. The silence stretched, but Max wasn't one to let a conversation die so easily.

"You wanted to know something about Elsa," Max said, his voice calm but probing. "Did what she said in the interview answer your question?"

Georg's glare was sharp, piercing through the haze of smoke between them. He shook his head slowly, his expression hardening as if daring Max to press further.

Max held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, though the curiosity in his eyes lingered. "Alright," he said, stepping back from the desk.

Georg didn't respond, his jaw tightening as he turned his gaze to the window, the faint glow of the city lights reflecting in his eyes. Whatever answer he sought from Elsa, it was clear that it remained elusive—and perhaps more troublingly, that it might not even exist.