Monday afternoon. 3:47 p.m.
Liceum Ogólnokształcące nr. XIV looked smaller than he remembered.
Same gray walls. Same cracked pavement in the courtyard. Same bell that rang at 3:45 sharp.
Alex walked through the front gate in a black coat, no tie, hands in pockets. No bodyguard. No entourage. Just him.
He took the back stairs to the third floor.
Room 312.
Ms. Nowakowska's literature classroom.
The door was half-open. Afternoon light slanted through the windows. Desks empty. Chalk dust on the blackboard.
She stood at the front, erasing the day's notes.
Early 40s now. Hair still in a tight bun. Glasses on a chain. Same severe blouse and skirt.
She turned when she heard footsteps.
Froze.
"Alex Thorn."
Her voice was flat.
Surprised, but not afraid.
He stepped inside.
Closed the door.
Locked it.
She set the eraser down.
"What are you doing here?"
Alex walked to the front row.
Sat on a desk.
Casual.
"I was in the neighborhood."
She crossed her arms.
