The night had wrapped itself around the city like a heavy curtain. Nadia hadn’t turned on the overhead light. Only the flicker of a window lamp and the low glow of a cigarette lit the scene – her body folded on the floor, surrounded by scrawled notes, empty coffee mugs, and the rising tension of a case she still couldn’t name.
She hadn’t heard from Astrid again. That brief, charged encounter still echoed in her thoughts – and the message, that strange message from the alleyway, was carved into her nerves like static in silence.
So she sat. Sorting, reading, circling the same lines she’d already memorized, her hoodie pulled low and her cap hiding tired eyes. „Bad Hair Day“ the cap read, but it wasn’t the hair that felt wrong tonight – it was everything else. Nothing connected. Nothing made sense.
The smoke curled into the air as if trying to draw an answer.
At some point, she gave up pretending she was still working. Her body ached from sitting, her eyes from reading. And yet her mind was far from finished. The page in her hand wouldn’t let go – not even when she pushed herself into the bathroom, poured a glass of red wine, and sank into the warm silence of water.
Rose petals floated around her, a romantic illusion of peace. But the truth? Nadia was still investigating – only now with damp fingers, paper balanced above the water, and the lines between self-care and obsession blurring.
The question still hadn’t changed: What had she missed?
