•Harry's Side•
I park in front of this village cemetery, right in the middle of a rural landscape. Then I step out of the BMW my sister gave me a few years ago—before she cut ties with me.
I'm wearing a simple, casual outfit, with a sober color palette. Normal—I'm here to visit my progenitors' graves. I'd never wear my best clothes for them, so I chose: a dark gray zip-up hoodie, loose and comfortable, worn open; a plain black T-shirt underneath, discreet and minimalist; straight-cut blue jeans, classic fit, slightly loose, giving a relaxed look; light sneakers in beige or off-white, clean and simple; and a silver necklace with a thin pendant, adding a personal, stylish touch.
I enter this rarely visited place. The cemetery is tight, almost suffocating, surrounded by old stone walls. Narrow paths wind between uneven graves—some leaning, others half-swallowed by the earth. The stones bear barely legible names, eaten away by rain and years.
Tall cypress trees cast long, motionless shadows, like silent guardians. Dead leaves crunch underfoot, breaking a heavy, almost solemn silence. The air is cool, filled with the smell of damp stone and withered vegetation.
Here, time seems frozen. Nothing really moves, yet everything weighs down, as if each grave were holding onto a fragment of silence.
I walk toward my parents' graves—but instead of finding myself alone... I find someone.
My sister.
Anger and hatred spike the moment I see her. She's always early. Always one step ahead of me. She thinks she's smarter and stronger than everyone else... all because she's the favorite of the two old fools buried here. She got everything easily and thinks she has the right to give me orders.
— Jessica, I say coldly as I step beside her.
She doesn't even glance at me. Her gaze is lost, fixed on the graves. I notice, as always, that Jessica is impeccably dressed, in a dark, elegant, and androgynous outfit.
— Hi, Ry... she says in a neutral tone, then looks at me.
She looks exhausted, yet distant at the same time. Jess always used to call me Ry when we were kids.
I place one of the flowers I brought on my father's grave, and the other on my mother's.
— You still work with them? Jess asks as she pulls a cigarette from her pocket.
She's going to end up killing herself with cancer, just like our father.
— Yeah... and you? You still running that shit? I say with disgust.
Jessica shoots me a dark look, then exhales a cloud of smoke.
— It's the work our parents built. Both of them. And yes—I'll carry it on until I die.
I sigh and look at our parents' graves.
— Why do you look like a beaten dog? my sister asks, watching me suspiciously.
I kick a small rock with my foot, still staring at the ground, then lift my eyes toward the horizon.
— It's just work. You know how it is...
I hesitate, then sigh deeply before continuing.
— I have to convince a teenage girl to join the CIA... and I have to help her get ready to become an agent. But the problem is... there's something mysterious about her, and I can't remember where I know her from...
Jessica keeps smoking, thinking.
— What's this kid's name?
I look at her, then say:
— Stella Cooper. A German. But her first and last name sound American...
I notice Jessica freeze—so much that she lets her cigarette fall. It's the first time I've ever seen her like this. I watch her, suspicious.
— Stella... right... interesting. Why her and not another one? Jessica says, more to herself than to me.
I stare at her, surprised by the question.
— What...?
She starts walking toward the exit.
— Good luck with your mission. I have things to take care of.
I watch her leave, incredulous.
I should've known. She always leaves me in the shit like this.
But she was really strange when I told her the name...
I sigh, then wait a long minute before looking again at the graves of the people who pass for my parents.
I wonder if Jess knows Stella...
I close my eyes and smile, remembering Ruby when she came alone to my office the last time.
That kid is incredibly naïve. But she always acts tough in front of others.
It's always the weakest and the most naïve ones who put on a tough, nonchalant front.
I open my eyes again and leave that place that gives me nightmares. Then I head back to my BMW.
The car still had the marks I'd made when I was a kid. I wanted to get back at my sister because she never spent time with me. So I scratched her car. I always thought she'd tell our progenitor—but it seems she never did.
I get into the car and head home.