The knock was soft, almost hesitant, a stark contrast to the violent pounding of his memories. Karl, mid-push-up on the cold floorboards, froze. His body went taut, every muscle coiled, his senses snapping to the door. No one knocked here. No one knew him.
The SIG was in his hand, a cold comfort pressed flat against his thigh as he moved silently to the door, his movements as precise and measured as if he were moving a chess piece. He didn't look through the peephole immediately. He listened. One set of breaths. Light. A faint shifting of weight. The rhythmic click of a woman's high-heeled shoes against the tile. Her touch.
He risked a glance.
And the world tilted on its axis.
It was her.
The woman from the dream. The memory. The face that had hovered over him in the blinding light of the hospital. But she was different now. More serene. A calmness in her eyes that contrasted sharply with the frantic worry of his dream.
She stood in the dim hallway, a small figure bathed in the pale morning light filtering through the hallway window. The worried eyes from his memory were now warm, a deep, knowing brown. The dark hair wasn't tucked under a cap but cascaded around her shoulders, framing a delicate face. And there, resting in the hollow of her throat, was a delicate silver cross on a thin chain.
She was even more beautiful in the soft, morning light. She held a small, ceramic plate, covered with a white cloth. The familiar aroma of apple cake wafted from it.
His mind raced, trying to reconcile the ghost from his past with the living, breathing woman on his doorstep. Coincidence? A setup? His finger tightened on the trigger guard, the cold metal a stark counterpoint to the warmth radiating from her.
He took a deep, steadying breath, forcing the Ghost back into the shadows. Matthias Vogel would answer the door. He engaged the deadbolt and chain, opening the door just a crack, his body positioned behind it, a poised hunter ready to spring.
"Ja?" he said, his voice carefully neutral, a practiced mask.
She offered a small, shy smile, a glimmer of something akin to recognition. "Guten Morgen," she said, her German accent cultured and smooth, "I am so sorry to disturb you. I am your neighbor, from across the hall. Dr. Elara Vogel." She gave a small, self-deprecating shrug, as if anticipating his suspicion. "No relation, despite the shared name, I promise. I just wanted to welcome you to the building. It's a quiet house, good people."
She held up the ceramic plate. "I baked too much Apfelkuchen. I thought you might enjoy a piece. A small welcome gesture."
Karl, Matthias, felt a flicker of something akin to embarrassment. He had never asked for a welcome gesture. The warmth of the apple cake was a stark contrast to the cold steel in his hand.
"That is... very kind of you," he said, his voice softer now. He opened the door wider, accepting the plate. "Thank you. I am Matthias. It is a pleasure to meet you."
Her eyes, though calm, held a knowing glint. A faint tremor, a tiny whisper of recognition. "The pleasure is mine," she said. "Well, I won't keep you. Enjoy the cake."
With a warm smile, she turned and walked back to her own door across the hall, a quiet grace in her step. Karl, Matthias, stood frozen in his doorway, the warmth of the cake in his hand, watching her go. He'd had a whole life, a persona meticulously crafted in the quiet hours. But now, a part of him, the part that felt most real, was connected to this new part of his life. He was no longer just the man in the shadows, the Ghost. He was Matthias Vogel, and now, he was also living next door to his saviour.