Allia walked down the street humming without even noticing it, a sure sign of her current mood. For a month now, she and Marc had been officially together even if, unofficially, it had been the case long before. Between his exhausting shifts and her own unpredictable hours, they had ended up building a routine, fragile but real.
The café on the corner of Jacquemard Street had become their place. A peaceful spot with slightly wobbly wooden tables, a display filled with overly sweet pastries, and a terrace where they spent more time talking than drinking.
Allia headed there almost mechanically, a discreet smile tugging at her lips. She needed that moment. Needed him. Needed normality.
And in fact, everything finally seemed to be finding some kind of balance.
The police from the precinct hadn't contacted them for three weeks; every lead they'd chased had crumbled.
No credible witnesses.No usable DNA evidence.A string of hypotheses too weak to stand.
They've dropped it, Allia thought. Or they want us to think they've dropped it.
But that morning, she felt light.
Light enough to push paranoia aside just for a moment.
She inhaled deeply when she spotted the blue sign of the café where Marc had asked to meet. He was surely already there: he always arrived early. He said it was because he liked watching people before she showed up, but she suspected he simply didn't want to waste her time.
She slowed down as she approached the front window. The café was calm, still half-empty at this hour. Her gaze swept across the room, looking for Marc… and she found him, sitting at a table against the wall, a cup of coffee in front of him.
Then her breath caught.
Someone was standing next to him.
A woman, her brown hair tied up, leaning toward Marc as if whispering something in his ear. A serious, almost commanding expression tightened her brows.
And that face she would have recognized it among a thousand.
Elia.
Allia stepped back half a pace. No… what… what was her sister doing here? Why was she talking to Marc?
Before she could react, Elia slowly lifted her head. Their eyes met through the glass, and a cold shiver ran down Allia's spine. Elia stared at her for a few seconds, without a smile, without a gesture, then abruptly turned away and slipped between the tables, disappearing into the back room like a fleeting shadow.
Allia stayed frozen, her heart pounding in her temples.
She blinked, unable to process what she had just seen.
Then she pushed the door of the café.
Warm air wrapped around her at once. The smell of fresh pastries and steaming milk softened her confusion for a heartbeat. She forced herself to walk forward, scanning for her sister's silhouette. Nothing. The rows of tables, the scattered customers, the servers weaving through no sign of Elia. None.
Marc looked up at that moment.
"Oh, there you are!" he said with a smile, getting to his feet. "I was waiting for you."
He absentmindedly touched his phone, as if checking the time.
"I'll be right back," he added. "Sorry, I was just about to run to the restroom."
"Yeah, sure," Allia replied in a voice she hoped sounded natural.
Marc brushed her shoulder lightly as he passed, a barely noticeable gesture, then walked toward the back of the café.
Allia watched him disappear behind the bathroom door.
At that exact moment, a subtle presence formed behind her. Not a sound just a shift in the air, imperceptible but familiar.
She spun around.
Elia was there.
Standing, arms crossed, her face set in that expression she wore when she hid a long-nurtured reproach.
"So, are you planning to tell me since when you've been seeing Marc?" she said, her voice low, almost sharp.
"W-What?" Allia stammered.
"Why did you hide it from me?" Elia continued, stepping forward. "You've been hiding a lot from me lately. Do you think I don't notice?"
Allia felt her legs stiffen.
"Elia, wait… I don't understand"
"As always," her sister cut in. "You never understand anything."
She shook her head, exasperated, and walked toward the exit. Allia wanted to follow, to talk to her, but Elia was already slipping between the tables, melting into the light of the open door. By the time Allia reached the entrance, she was gone. Only the street, the passersby, and the cold breath of the wind remained.
She stood there for a few seconds, her hand clenched around her bag strap, her heart in disarray. Elia had been here. She was sure of it. She had seen her. She had spoken to her.
So why… why did everything suddenly look normal again, as if nothing had happened?
She returned to the table, forcing her breathing to steady. Marc was back, seated, his brows slightly furrowed as she approached.
"Everything okay?" he asked, tilting his head.
She smiled or tried to.
"Yeah… yeah, sorry. I'm just a bit tired. Rough night."
Marc shrugged gently without pushing. He had this discreet way of never forcing confessions, something she loved about him… and that, today, made her oddly uneasy.
She sat across from him. He started talking about his morning, about work, about a colleague who had mixed up two files again, but Allia barely heard him. Her gaze kept drifting toward the entrance, then to the mirrors on the walls, then to the silhouettes of other customers, as if she expected Elia to reappear at any moment.
Every time someone stood up or footsteps echoed behind her, a nervous shiver ran down her spine.
"Allia?" Marc said.
She almost jumped.
"Sorry… I'm a little out of it."
"I can tell," he said with a faint smile. Then, more serious: "Do you want to reschedule lunch? If you're exhausted, we can do this another day."
"No, no… it's fine. Really."
She was trying harder to convince herself than him.