“I trust you,” Anna murmured.

  Casimir’s eyes softened, and for a moment, he looked almost sorrowful.

  Then came the silence.

  The wind rose, curling her hair into the air. Her shoes pressed against the edge of something unseen. The night opened up before her like a door.

  And then—

  A soundless beat. A rush of air. The world is tilting.

  Anna’s mind flooded with color — gold, white, blue.

  The sky was so close now... Or could it be the ground?

  She thought she was still dancing... She thought she heard music, faint and celestial. In that vastness, she laughed, tears spilling free as light spun around her.

  “Mama,” she whispered into the wind, her voice breaking into the hum of the world. “Look… I’m flying! Look at me! Haha!”

  The city below exhaled. A tram bell rang in the distance.

  For a heartbeat, it still felt like dancing.

  The air swirled around her like silk, weightless and unreal, the sky rushing up to meet her in slow motion.

  Then something broke.

  The rhythm, the illusion, the trance — shattered.

  The world tilted. The silence screamed. It wasn't the sky that was getting closer; it was the ground that was getting closer.

  “Casimir?”

  Her voice was small, lost in the wind. She looked up — and the ledge was gone. Only the boy, framed by a bleeding sunset, still stood above.

  “Casimir!” she cried, the word tearing out of her like a wound. Her mind fractured between disbelief and terror — she didn’t understand, she didn’t want to understand.

  His face hovered above her — serene, distant, haloed in fading light.

  “Casimir, please—!”

  Her words dissolved into the wind. Her breath caught, her chest hollowed. The music she thought she’d heard moments ago became the roar of air, the breaking of her world.

  And then — nothing.

  The roof was silent again.

  Casimir stood at the edge, motionless. The night had turned violet. His eyes reflected nothing. The city lights blinked below, dim and unaware. And for a long moment, he simply watched the horizon — expression unreadable, eyes soft with something like grief, or love, or both.

  He raised a hand and brushed his thumb over his palm, as though feeling where her hand had been. His fingers trembled just once — then steadied.

  A faint smile touched his lips.

  It wasn’t joy. It wasn’t sorrow. It was something more frightening — the peace of a man who had accepted the inevitable.

  Then he stepped back from the edge, his shadow slipping into the dark, leaving behind only the sound of distant sirens rising from below. He closed his eyes and whispered her name, not in grief, but in completion.

  In the quiet aftermath, he realized he hadn’t lost her—he had set her free from gravity itself.

  One step closer to the end of the world. One step toward fulfilling his mother's wish.

  

  

  

  

  

  

  ***

  It was raining when they came.

  Professor Elena Ivanova had been grading papers by the window, her small apartment faintly smelling of ink and candle wax. Chopin played softly from a dusty record player—a nocturne she always put on during long nights of marking essays. Outside, Wroc?aw was a mist of streetlights and wet pavement, the world muffled and slow.

  When the knock came, it startled her.

  Three short, official raps.

  She froze for a moment, pen still poised above the margin of Anna Smirnov’s paper. It was Anna's essay about nihilism and human meaning—an assignment she’d promised to grade and return tomorrow. She’d written comments in the margins:

  “Excellent argument. Expand on this passage—it’s deeply moving.”

  The pen rolled from her fingers. She rose slowly, smoothing the creases in her cardigan, and went to the door.

  Two uniformed officers stood beneath the flickering hallway light. Their faces were stiff, drained of expression. One of them—a young man with a drooping mustache—removed his hat.

  “Elena Ivanova?”

  “Huh? Yes,” she said, hesitantly. “Is something wrong, officers?”

  He hesitated. The pause was enough to make her heart beat faster.

  “Ma’am,” he said quietly, “I’m afraid we need to inform you… Your student, Anna Smirnov, was found deceased last night.”

  Her lips parted slightly, a soundless breath escaping. “I—what?”

  “She was found on the school grounds, near the west building. Witnesses believe she fell from the rooftop.”

  Ivanova shook her head slowly, her voice faltering. “No… no, that’s not… that’s impossible. Anna wouldn’t—she was—she just turned in her essay that same evening. She was just fine!”

  The second officer lowered his eyes. “It appears to have been a suicide, ma’am.”

  The words hit her like a physical blow. Her legs weakened, and her hand went to the doorframe for balance.

  “Suicide?” she repeated faintly. “No. No, she—she wouldn’t do that. She was… bright. She smiled. She… She had a reason to live for... She really liked this boy, and...”

  Stolen story; please report.

  Her voice broke.

  Then, behind the two officers, a woman in a long black coat stepped forward, flashing a badge. Her hair was waved neatly, her eyes sharp and focused.

  “Detective Lisa Kowalska,” she said evenly. “I’m leading the investigation.”

  Ivanova blinked at her, trying to breathe. “Investigation? But you said it was—”

  “We’re not ruling out foul play,” Lisa interrupted gently. “There are… irregularities. I’d like to ask you a few questions, if that’s all right.”

  The officers stepped aside, making room. And that’s when another figure appeared behind Lisa.

  Rose Brook.

  Her blonde hair had grown past her shoulders, and her red scarf was damp from the rain. Her red lipstick was still prominent. Her arms crossed tightly, her expression unreadable except for the faint tremor at the corner of her mouth.

  Ivanova’s voice came out in a whisper. “You’re… with the police?”

  Lisa shook her head. “She’s a consultant. Miss Brook has… personal involvement in a related case.”

  Rose’s eyes met Ivanova’s—icy, burning.

  "No shit, Sherlock..." Rose muttered to herself.

  Lisa continued: “The reason we’re here, Professor, is because this death may not have been a suicide. We have reason to believe it could be connected to a series of unusual incidents involving a Japanese scientist, Dr. Kazou Kuroda. He was recently sighted traveling toward Wroc?aw.”

  At that name, Rose’s jaw tightened. Her fingers dug into her own arms.

  Ivanova’s confusion deepened. “A scientist? I—what does that have to do with Anna?”

  Lisa stepped forward, her tone calm but precise. “That’s what we’re here to find out.” She glanced over her shoulder at Rose. “Miss Brook, if you’d like to—”

  Rose moved past her, her heels clicking sharply against the wooden floor as she entered the apartment. She took a seat without being invited, crossing her legs. Her gaze darted briefly to the essays scattered on the table—Anna’s handwriting among them.

  “Don't worry. If Kazou did do this, I won't let him go uncaught! So,” Rose said coldly, “you’re that girl's teacher.”

  Ivanova nodded numbly.

  “Did she ever mention a boy named Casimir?” Lisa asked.

  Ivanova hesitated. “Casimir… yes. Yes, she did once. A student. Quiet boy, very polite. Why?”

  Lisa’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re certain?”

  “Yes. He was one of my philosophy students.”

  Rose leaned back in her chair, her tone brittle with restrained anger. “Then you’ve met a Casimir.”

  “I’ve taught him,” Ivanova corrected, her voice trembling. “He’s brilliant—frighteningly so. But withdrawn. Always reading alone. Why are you asking about him?”

  Lisa exchanged a look with Rose before answering. “Casimir may be linked to Dr. Kuroda. The scientist. There’s a possibility the two share… more than just a connection.”

  Ivanova frowned. “You mean family?”

  “Something like that,” Lisa replied, voice distant. “But for now, all we know is that Dr. Kuroda’s movements and this incident occurred within days of each other.”

  Rose’s hands clenched in her lap. Her voice came out barely above a whisper, raw and trembling with anger. “Kazou...”

  Lisa didn’t answer immediately. She looked instead at Ivanova, her expression unreadable. “Professor, when I mentioned Casimir. I didn't mean a student. I was talking about that scientist. He has an alter ego named Casimir.”

  Ivanova shook her head slowly. “I don't understand!”

  Silence.

  Lisa exhaled softly, then motioned to the officers. “Please wait by the door.” The two men nodded and stepped aside, leaving the three women alone in the dim, book-lined apartment.

  Ivanova’s hands were trembling. “She was just here,” she murmured. “She gave me her essay today. She… she asked me about a book. The Forgotten Soldier.”

  Rose’s head snapped up. “What?”

  Ivanova nodded weakly. “She said it made her friend faint, and she wanted to understand why. I didn’t think anything of it… But what if that book had something to do with what happened to Anna, too?"

  Lisa’s expression darkened. “Do you still have the book?”

  “I think Anna took it back with her,” Ivanova whispered. “Oh god, I should’ve noticed something was wrong.”

  Rose stood abruptly, pacing toward the window. “Kazou…It’s always the same circle. He is such a horrible man.”

  Her voice cracked at the last word.

  Lisa placed a gentle but firm hand on Ivanova’s shoulder. “Professor,” she said softly, “we’ll need you to come in tomorrow for a full statement. For now, please don’t blame yourself. These things… they’re more complex than they appear.”

  Ivanova looked up at her, tears finally breaking through. “She was just a girl.”

  Lisa’s gaze softened. “I know.”

  Behind them, Rose turned from the rain-streaked window. Her eyes were red now, though her face was composed. “If it was Kazou,” she said quietly, “I’ll find him. I’ll make him pay.”

  Lisa gave her a warning look. “Rose—”

  “No,” Rose said sharply. “You don’t understand. He ruins everything he touches. Every life, every mind, every heart. And if he’s here in Wroc?aw… then this isn’t over! KAZOU IS A MONSTER!”

  The room fell silent except for the faint hiss of the record’s end.

  Professor Ivanova stood motionless, her hand still gripping Anna’s essay as if holding onto the girl herself. The ink smudged where her tears fell across the paper.

  Lisa looked at her watch. “We should go,” she said quietly.

  As they turned to leave, Ivanova whispered after them, her voice breaking like old porcelain—

  “She said she trusted him.”

  Lisa stopped in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the hall light. “Who?”

  Ivanova met her gaze, eyes hollow.

  “Casimir.”

  "Casimir? Oh, that is Kazou Kuroda's alter ego." Lisa nodded. "She likely met Kazou Kuroda then."

  When they left, the record started again, its needle trembling on the same piano key, playing one note over and over—

  soft, lonely, endless.

  ***

  The news reached them before noon. It spread through the school like a cold wind slipping under every door — whispering, stinging, impossible to believe.

  Marcin was the first to hear. He was halfway through a chocolate bar behind the dormitory when Tina came running toward him, her breath ragged, eyes red. “Marcin,” she gasped. “Marcin, it’s Anna.”

  Something in her tone froze the smoke in his throat. “What about Anna?”

  “She’s—” Tina’s voice broke. She pressed a trembling hand against her mouth. “She’s gone. They said… she jumped. From the roof.”

  Marcin just stared at her. The words didn’t fit in his head. Jumped? Anna? His Anna who never broke a rule, who cried over sad movies, who still said please and thank you to vending machines that refused her coins?

  He let out a dry, incredulous laugh. “That’s not—Tina, that’s not funny.”

  “I’m not joking,” she whispered. Her face crumpled. “They’re saying it’s suicide.”

  The chocolate var fell from his hand and burned itself out on the concrete.

  For a long time, neither of them spoke. The wind pushed at the birches nearby, their branches knocking together like bones. Students were gathering in small clusters across the courtyard, their voices hushed and uncertain. Somewhere, a girl sobbed.

  When Marcin finally spoke again, his voice was hollow. “She wouldn’t… she wouldn’t do that. She was fine yesterday.”

  Tina nodded weakly. “She was laughing. She said she was going to turn in her essay...”

  The tears came suddenly — not quiet, gentle ones, but raw, broken sobs that tore out of her chest. Marcin tried to hold her, but he was shaking too hard.

  “How did she even get to the roof?” Tina whispered through her crying. “It’s always locked. You can’t get up there without a key.”

  “I don’t know.” His voice was rough. “I don’t know, Tina.”

  “She wouldn’t go up there alone,” Tina said. “She’s scared of heights. Remember?”

  Marcin stared at the ground. The sound of his heartbeat filled his ears. “Someone was with her,” he said quietly.

  Tina looked up, confused, frightened. “What do you mean?”

  He hesitated, but the memory burned sharp in his mind: Casimir’s hand brushing Anna’s shoulder, the way she smiled at him now — softer, different. The way she felt for Casimir.

  “Casimir,” Tina muttered, barely audible. “She was with Casimir.”

  Marcin blinked. “Casimir? No...”

  Tina nodded, eyes darkening. “I saw them together last evening. I didn't say anything because I thought it was nothing. Casimir was walking out of Ivanovas. Minutes later, Anna followed.” Tina whispered, “Marcin… do you think he—”

  “I don’t know... Casimir wouldn't hurt a fly...” he cut in, his voice trembling with a mixture of anger and grief. “But if he hurt her…” His fists clenched until his knuckles turned white. “If he did something to her, I’ll find out.”

  Tina hugged herself, shaking her head. “Why would he? Anna liked him. He was… kind..."

  Marcin looked out over the courtyard, at the police tape fluttering faintly near the science wing, at the teachers whispering behind their hands, at the way the world suddenly seemed too bright for a day like this.

  “She trusted him,” he said, the words catching in his throat. “That’s why.”

  "You really think Casimir has to do with what happened to Anna?" Tina said through her tears. "I don't think I really want to believe that anymore."

  "Casimir has been different ever since he collapsed, though..." Marcin sniffled. "Maybe we should talk to him..."

  Marcin turned away, and for the first time since hearing her name, he began to cry. Not the loud kind. Just quiet, shaking sobs — the kind that make it hard to stand, because you realize the person you cared about most in the world might have died thinking they were safe.

  And above them, far beyond the courtyard noise, the roof glinted in the pale morning sun — silent, unreachable, and empty.

  "WHY!!??" Tina finally screamed.