The years passed the way rivers do: slowly on the surface, but carving deep into the banks beneath.
After the incident in the shed, nothing was ever quite the same. Yet to the rest of the world, everything looked still—perfectly normal.
The Nord twins grew up in the same house, went to the same schools, wore the same hairstyle their mother loved to braid every morning. They laughed, rode their bikes, fought with their brothers, joined school fairs. On birthdays, they blew out their candles together, as if even their breath needed to remain shared.
But Allia saw what no one else could see.
She saw the shadows in Elia's eyes.
It was at twelve that Allia first understood her sister had never regretted killing the fifteen-year-old boy.
They were in their room, lying on the floor, cutting pictures out of a magazine. Allia wanted to make a collage for school. Elia, though, was cutting out faces—only faces.
She lined them up.
Sorted them.
Studied them.
"Why are you cutting only their heads?" Allia asked, feeling uneasy.
"Because faces tell everything," Elia replied, focused. "You can read a face. Who lies. Who's scared. Who lies but is scared of getting caught."
"You mean… like him?" Allia whispered.
She regretted it the second the words left her mouth.
Elia lifted her head.
Her eyes were too calm.
"No. He… he wasn't lying. He just thought I wouldn't fight back."
A cold shiver ran down Allia's spine. She thought that if she had been someone else, she would have run. She would have told someone. She would have asked for help.
But she wasn't someone else.
She was Elia's twin.
So she only said:
"We must never talk about it."
"I know. And I also know you'll never tell," Elia replied with a faint smile.
A smile that wasn't childlike at all.
Allia looked away.
Because she knew it was true.
Adolescence arrived, and with it, the first real differences.
Elia became a cold beauty, with a reputation for being distant, unreachable, impossible to grasp. A brilliant, quiet, discreet student. Often lost in thought. Sometimes provocative, but never enough to get in trouble. People said she had a "strange charm."
Allia, on the other hand, was more sociable.
More cheerful.
More loved, too.
Without ever seeking it, she drew friendships while Elia drew fascination.
They were complementary.
A sun and a moon.
But Allia knew that the moon carried its own gravity.
At sixteen, both girls already knew what they would become.
Elia wanted forensic medicine.
It made sense.
She had always loved understanding what makes a body stop. She read anatomy books while other teenage girls read romances. She watched documentaries about decomposition while their brothers played video games.
"You want to help the police catch murderers?" their mother once asked with a nervous laugh.
"Something like that," Elia simply answered.
But Allia knew that wasn't it.
Not at all.
Allia turned to computer science, then quickly to cybersecurity.
It came naturally.
She loved understanding systems.
Networks.
Digital traces.
And above all…
she loved knowing how to erase those traces.
She convinced herself it was for her future career.
But a part of her knew why she was learning so fast.
Why she pushed herself to master protocols, anonymization methods, black boxes, bypass techniques.
Because if Elia ever started again…
Allia would be ready.
Time passed, and Elia grew like a silent storm.
At eighteen, she often came home late.
Too late.
With a different expression in her eyes.
Heavier. Darker.
Allia didn't dare ask questions.
Or rather: she didn't dare ask the wrong ones.
"You're home late," she remarked one night.
"I walk," Elia said. "It helps me think."
"About what?"
Elia stared at her for a long, long time before answering:
"People."
That was all.
But behind her words, Allia recognized a familiar shade.
The same shade she had seen, as a child, in the shed.
The same shade she had learned to associate with danger.
And yet…
Yet a tiny, shameful part of her felt a thrill, a vertigo, almost… an interest.
A troubled excitement she refused to name.
At night, in her bed, she bit her fingers hard enough to leave marks, trying to drive the feeling away.
But it came back.
Always.
Like an echo in her stomach.
Their relationship had changed, too.
They were close, but differently.
Allia sometimes felt like her sister was watching her.
Or rather… that Elia was making sure she stayed close.
One night, Elia sat on Allia's bed without warning.
"You're still thinking about the shed, aren't you?" she whispered.
Allia froze.
"No," she answered too quickly.
Elia smiled in the dark.
"I've never stopped thinking about it."
Allia's heart beat faster.
The room felt too small, too silent.
Elia looked at her as if searching for something inside her—something only she could recognize.
"But it's okay," Elia added.
She gently ran her hand through Allia's hair.
A tender gesture.
A possessive gesture.
"Because we're always together. Right?"
Allia took a moment before answering.
"Yes."
It didn't feel like a promise anymore.
It felt like a prison.
At nineteen, they left their family home for their studies.
They moved into a small three-room apartment: a tiny living room, a kitchen barely deserving the name, but two separate bedrooms. Elia claimed it was more economical. Allia knew her sister couldn't bear the thought of sleeping too far from her.
Adulthood was beginning.
But beneath classes, exams, coffee shops, and new responsibilities, Allia felt the shadow returning.
Something was coming.
Something already known.
Something inevitable.
Because lately, Elia had been coming home even later.
With that same look Allia had seen once in the shed.
That look.
And Allia knew.
She knew it was only a matter of time before it happened again.
Before the shadow reclaimed its place.
Before her sister killed again.