I woke to the sound of the shower turning on in the adjoining room. Velka had gotten up before me, which gave me space to prepare the clothes we’d wear for the day. As I carefully laid out the shirts and double-checked the little details Velka had taught me, I tried to think like Caroline: methodical, always proper.

  Velka stepped out of the bathroom with damp hair, wrapped in a towel. When she saw me, she flashed a playful smile.

  —Already acting like a real wife, darling —she said in a tone caught between teasing and tenderness.

  —I just want us to be ready so we don’t have to rush —I replied, my voice carrying the slightest tremor.

  —Thank you, love —she said softly, before dressing in the clothes I’d picked for her.

  When it was my turn to shower, I let the warm water wash away the doubts and fears still clinging to me. Eyes closed, I repeated to myself: You’re Caroline now. Nothing else.

  When I came out, I heard Velka moving in the kitchen, the faint clatter of plates and pans. I went downstairs and found her cooking something that smelled of spices I didn’t recognize—something unique to Eiswacht.

  —Susanne always makes this —she explained, stirring the mixture—. It’s part of how she spoils Caroline. You’ll have to taste it and tell me what flavors you notice.

  I sat down, feeling my heart beat a little faster. Everything in this house still felt borrowed, but I had to make it mine. Velka glanced over her shoulder at me with a light smile.

  —By the way, you were talking in your sleep.

  —What did I say? —I asked, a chill running through me.

  —Blood Crown —she replied.

  I froze. I couldn’t remember dreaming, but that name… something told me it mattered.

  —I don’t know what it means, but if it happens again, tell me —I said.

  —I will —she answered, her expression a mix of concern and amusement.

  Minutes later, as we bundled up to leave, I caught sight of a man in a long dark coat standing at the corner outside. He didn’t move, didn’t smoke, didn’t check his watch. He was simply there. Velka noticed too, but said nothing—just took my arm and smiled like we were the perfect couple.

  At exactly six o’clock, the transport arrived. It was a vehicle with tinted windows, discreet but with the armor that betrayed its true purpose. As soon as we got inside, I heard the faint click of the automatic locks, and an uneasy prickle crept up my neck.

  During the drive, the city unfolded like a painting of iron and order. Residential streets with sharp-angled roofs and lace curtains gave way to wide avenues where loudspeakers broadcast safety notices and martial melodies. Perfectly framed posters on the walls read: Discipline is Freedom and Aurora Will Bring Light to the Future. We passed markets where each stall was guarded by two sentries, and factories that exhaled columns of white smoke into a gray sky.

  Velka leaned back as if enjoying the ride, but I knew her well enough to see she was mapping streets, counting exits, and noting every patrol’s position.

  Almost an hour later, the vehicle stopped before an imposing building of glass and steel, part hospital, part fortress. At the entrance, a tall man with slicked-back silver hair and a neatly trimmed mustache awaited us, his gloved hands folded in front of him.

  —Doctor Schulz, Mrs. Weber —he greeted with a measured nod—. I’m Doctor Carl Herzmann, Deputy Director of Project Aurora.

  His handshake was as cold as the metal threshold we crossed. The lobby carried a constant hum from the lights, and the air smelled of ink and burnt coffee. People in white coats moved briskly through the halls: some laughing nervously, others murmuring as they clutched folders like they contained life-or-death secrets.

  —Before we proceed —Herzmann said in his deep voice—, we need to confirm your biometric data. It’s a standard security requirement.

  He led us to a small side room. On a table, a glass scanner gleamed under a cold lamp. I placed my hand on the surface, feeling it read not my real fingerprints but the ones the implant beneath my skin perfectly reproduced. Even so, I couldn’t stop my breath from quickening. Velka, for her part, did it with the same ease as signing a letter.

  —Perfect —Herzmann said when the device’s light turned green—. Now we can continue.

  In the conference room, a severe-looking officer in a spotless uniform handed us the contracts. His medals caught the light like blades. As I read each clause, a knot tightened in my throat. Velka seemed relaxed, but I caught the flicker of tension in her eyes.

  When we reached the clause about surveillance, Velka spoke without losing her composure.

  —So you’ll be installing cameras and microphones throughout the entire house? —she asked, her smile not quite touching her eyes.

  The officer cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable.

  —It’s protocol.

  —Even in our bedroom and bathroom? —Velka pressed.

  A heavy silence filled the room. Herzmann gave the officer a pointed look. At last, the man relented.

  —We can make an exception.

  —I’m glad we understand each other —Velka replied, her voice as sharp and cold as glass on the verge of breaking.

  We signed, and when the officer left, Velka let out a breath.

  —At least we have a bit of privacy —she murmured, and there was no trace of Susanne in her voice—only Velka.

  We were told we’d be working forty-eight hours straight before returning home. The doctor led us first to the room where we’d sleep: two identical beds, a small desk, and an empty wardrobe. The walls were bare, smelling faintly of disinfectant and metal. Everything was perfectly aligned—too perfect.

  We were given our access cards and shown the building’s maze of corridors: the cafeteria, meeting rooms, hallways lined with warning signs and reinforced doors. Every step echoed as if the building itself were listening.

  There was no overt hostility here, but the message was clear: we weren’t guests. We were pieces of a machine we could not control.

  There were people chatting, others leafing through folders or hauling crates. Even a few low chuckles, sounding more like nervous relief than actual amusement.

  As we approached the area where we would be working, I felt a shift—subtle but undeniable—like a faint, invisible thud in my chest. It was weak, but unmistakable: another magical girl. My breathing slowed, and just then the doctor stopped.

  —You will be working directly under the supervision of the strike squad leader, Klara Weisshaupt, of the Schattenspeer unit —he said in a neutral tone, as if he were announcing the lunch menu.

  The name meant nothing to me, but the shiver down my spine did. I glanced at Velka; she kept her usual smile, but her jaw was tighter than before.

  —What’s a magical girl doing here? —I asked, careful to sound more curious than alarmed.

  —She’s been instrumental in creating this facility —the doctor replied, with barely concealed respect—. If there’s anyone you should thank for the existence of this project, it’s her.

  The door opened, and the air seemed to grow denser. Klara Weisshaupt stepped in, carrying a presence that filled the room before she even spoke. Tall, slender, wearing a pristine black uniform with a long jacket that swayed with the precise cadence of each step. Her hair was so pale it was almost white, braided tightly to frame her elegant, cold features. Her eyes—two shards of gray ice—swept the room like blades.

  She stopped in front of us. I felt her gaze pin me to the floor, as if she were peeling away every layer of my disguise.

  —So, you’re Caroline and Susanne —she said, her voice soft but edged, her smile calculated—. I’ve read quite a bit about you. I trust we’ll work well together.

  —It’s an honor to have you as our supervisor —I managed, hearing the faint tremor in my own voice.

  Velka stepped in smoothly, her tone so steady it almost fooled me:

  —We’ll do whatever is necessary to contribute to the project.

  Klara studied us for a few more seconds, then let her lips curve slightly.

  —Remember: anything you need, you come directly to me. Everything here must be clear and efficient.

  When her eyes lingered on me for a heartbeat longer, the air seemed to get heavier. I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination, or if the temperature had truly dropped.

  —Yes, of course —I replied quickly.

  Klara gave a small nod, turned, and left. Her absence left behind an awkward silence, as if the room needed a moment to breathe again.

  Velka and I exchanged a brief look. No words, but both of us knew this woman was going to complicate everything.

  —Well —the doctor said, his tone more relaxed now—. Now that you’ve met her, I’ll take you to your workstations.

  The corridor ahead was long and sterile, white walls and polished floors reflecting every footstep like a metronome. The air smelled of chemicals and hot metal.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  —This is where you’ll be working —the doctor announced, opening a pair of double doors. Inside, a wide, perfectly ordered laboratory: steel tables, data terminals, whiteboards covered in formulas, and people in white coats working in near silence.

  He handed us slim folders.

  —We’ll need your minds and expertise. Any questions, your direct supervisor… will be Miss Weisshaupt, when she’s present.

  A tingle crawled up my spine. Velka noticed and, as she passed behind me, brushed my hand in a brief gesture that could easily pass as accidental.

  When the doctor left, I sank into a chair and opened the folder. Charts, graphs, lines of code—it all looked like a foreign language. Caroline would understand every word… I had to pretend I did too.

  Velka leaned toward me and murmured, without taking her eyes off her terminal:

  —Step by step. Don’t let them see you hesitate.

  I nodded, swallowing hard. Outside, the world might be made of steel and ice… but in here, the pressure was already suffocating.

  When I got up to get some coffee, I passed down a hallway where I saw Caelia—or rather, Elsa Vogt—going over spreadsheets with other supervisors. We exchanged a fleeting glance, just long enough to recognize the tension behind the fa?ade. In that brief exchange, something in her expression warned me to measure every word.

  I approached with a forced smile.

  —Today I met Klara Weisshaupt —I said, feigning pride—. She strikes me as a fascinating woman… and also a bit intimidating. She’s our direct supervisor, did you know?

  Caelia, wearing Elsa’s neutral expression, barely raised an eyebrow.

  —No, I didn’t… but it’s good to have someone like her —she replied, with that perfect tone that said nothing yet implied everything—. That way you won’t have to worry too much about security, right?

  —I suppose so —I said, though something in my own words sounded… off, as if the conviction had arrived a second after I spoke them.

  Caelia tilted her head slightly.

  —Well, get back to work. And if you notice anything strange… you know what to do.

  —Of course, thank you —I replied, continuing on, my pulse still racing.

  As I walked, a subtle pressure settled in my chest. It wasn’t fear, nor tension… more like an irrational sense of certainty: that I was exactly where I needed to be, fulfilling an unquestionable purpose. And yet, that feeling didn’t belong to me. It wasn’t mine.

  I forced myself to focus on the bitter scent of the coffee to shake it off. I passed a door marked “Authorized Personnel Only.” It was different from the others: the metal frame had an almost imperceptible relief, like eroded runes, and the cold that seeped from within made me frown.

  Without thinking, I swiped my access card across the lock. A red beep pulled me back to reality: access denied. I swallowed hard and, for a moment, felt an absurd urge to just stand there, waiting for someone to open it. The impulse faded as quickly as it had come, leaving behind a faint headache.

  I decided to keep moving. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Neyra—or Lena Bauer—in a side room, sketching graphs on a board while speaking with a group of technicians. She glanced at me, her brow furrowing ever so slightly, as if she had sensed something in me… or as if I had seemed somehow different for a moment.

  Back in the lab, I found Velka chatting easily with other researchers, smiling as if she had been born for this environment. I, on the other hand, felt as though every word I spoke was like a rope tightening around my neck.

  When I couldn’t take it anymore, I approached her and whispered:

  —I’m tired. I’m going to rest for a while.

  —Go on, love —she said softly, brushing her lips against my cheek—. I’ll stay a bit longer, but I’ll join you soon.

  I returned to the room. The sterile silence enveloped me the moment I closed the door. I lay down on the bed, but the pressure in my chest came back, accompanied by that absurd conviction that I was doing the right thing… even though I couldn’t define what it was. I closed my eyes, and as exhaustion pulled me under, one last unsettling thought crossed my mind:

  What would happen if, little by little, I stopped knowing which of my certainties were truly mine?

  The second day began with the same icy air seeping through the corridors. I woke before the alarm, my shoulders tense as if I had slept clinging to my fears. Velka was already dressed when I came downstairs, her hair pulled into a bun that gave her an even more elegant and severe look.

  —Today we’re going to dazzle again, my dear Caroline —she said with a light, almost playful smile.

  —If I don’t faint first, I suppose we will —I replied with a forced laugh.

  We joined the stream of employees marching down the hallways with measured steps and neutral expressions. It felt like moving through a river of human gears: no one spoke more than necessary, no one smiled without a calculated reason. Every glance was a greeting disguised as inspection.

  The morning became an endless parade of sealed documents, verification protocols, and calculations that felt like they were written in a secret language. Velka and I moved like perfectly calibrated pieces, exchanging quick glances when we passed each other. I knew we were both performing well… but under that surface, the heavy air of the place seeped in through every crack, as if the walls themselves were breathing and listening.

  Mid-morning, a young researcher approached me. He wore round glasses, a shirt a little too large for him, and an air of chronic nervousness.

  —Dr. Schulz —he said, trying to sound confident—, could you review these calculations? They’re for the new containment module.

  —Of course —I replied, taking the papers. My eyes scanned the lines, but I barely understood half of it.

  —Is this your first time working with Dr. Weisshaupt’s team? —he asked, in a tone that sounded more like probing than casual curiosity.

  —Yes, and I hope I won’t be a disappointment —I said, keeping the mask of lightness in place.

  —You won’t be. This module… well, it’s special. It’s not every day they integrate an emotional component into a containment system —he added, lowering his voice before excusing himself to return to work.

  I was left with his words echoing in my mind, unsure whether he’d just given me a clue or a warning.

  At midday, Velka was waiting for me in the cafeteria with a steaming cup of coffee.

  —Surviving? —she asked with a half-smile.

  —Barely —I answered, earning a brief laugh from her.

  —Well, if you’re going to faint, do it with style. For the reputation —she joked, but there was a tiredness in her gaze she didn’t bother to hide.

  The food was hot but tasteless, like everything here: perfect on the surface, empty in essence. Velka lowered her voice.

  —I’ve heard some of the techs talking about that “new module” everyone keeps mentioning. Someone said it might… affect the minds of those too close to it.

  The idea made me tighten my grip on the cutlery.

  —I saw something in a colleague’s papers —I murmured—. And yes, it mentioned an emotional component.

  Velka nodded, as if confirming a suspicion, and left the topic there. This wasn’t the time or place.

  In the afternoon, while she spoke with an engineer, I decided to wander the hallways, as if looking for a bit of air. I crossed paths with Neyra —or Lena Bauer— surrounded by technicians as she reviewed charts. Her composure was flawless, but when she saw me, there was a glint in her eyes that seemed to say don’t drop your guard.

  —Dr. Schulz? —she said, acknowledging me at the doorway.

  —Sorry, Lena… I didn’t mean to interrupt.

  —You’re not. I was just presenting these financial analyses. Apparently even emotions have a budget here —she commented, her sarcasm barely masking something darker.

  —It seems everything here has a price —I replied, playing along.

  She held my gaze for a moment.

  —Yes. Even us.

  She said nothing else. And that silence weighed more than any warning.

  I returned to my station. Velka greeted me with a smile that was all paper, but her hand brushed mine for the briefest second. A fleeting, intimate touch, enough to remind me I wasn’t alone.

  The rest of the afternoon was a constant echo of footsteps, keystrokes, and clipped orders. I saw Klara pass by twice; both times, employees stepped aside as if her mere presence could rewrite gravity. I kept my eyes low, though I felt her scanning the space, measuring everything.

  Before the day ended, Velka leaned toward me.

  —When we get home, you’ll have to show me those charts. And I want you to tell me everything.

  —I will… if you promise not to make fun of me.

  —I promise —she said, and that promise, brief as it was, gave me just enough air to make it to the end of the day.

  At the end of the day, we boarded the transport together. The vehicle moved with the smoothness of a predator that didn’t need to run to catch its prey. Through the darkened windows, the city slid past in shadows, interrupted by white streetlamps. On the corners, soldiers with rifles stood watch like living statues, and every time we passed a checkpoint, the driver dipped his head ever so slightly, as if acknowledging a silent language of authority.

  While we pretended to read some documents, Velka laced her fingers with mine under the dim seat light. We didn’t look at each other, but that touch steadied me more than any words could. Outside, at the main entrance, Klara Weisshaupt watched the last transports depart. She didn’t smile, didn’t speak; she simply followed the vehicles with her gaze. And for an instant, I felt—or wanted to believe—that her eyes lingered on us.

  The cold night air when we reached the house hit me like a slap, but it didn’t clear away the images replaying in my mind: the sealed containment module, the clipped conversations, the whisper of a “component with emotional parameters,” and, above all, Klara.

  Velka walked beside me with her back straight, her gaze forward, yet the sidelong glances she gave me felt as if she were calculating how much more I could take before breaking.

  —Are you all right? —she whispered.

  —Yes… just thinking about what I saw. That module doesn’t make sense.

  —It will when we find out, darling. For now, keep your head high.

  When we entered, we didn’t remove our coats right away. Velka’s eyes swept the room, as if taking inventory of every object. Only when she seemed certain did she step closer and take me by the waist.

  —I can’t wait any longer to have you, love —she whispered, her smile playful enough for anyone watching to believe it, though I knew it was a signal.

  —So impatient? —I played along, guiding her toward the interior door.

  —Let’s make sure no one finds out —she murmured, brushing my cheek with a kiss—light enough to be a whisper, but firm enough to convince any observer there was nothing here but passion.

  Once the bedroom door shut, the mask fell. Velka leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

  —What exactly did you see, Lyss?

  I told her about the module, the supervisor who seemed to report directly to Klara, and how my card hadn’t granted me access. Velka nodded, her expression hardening.

  —We can’t afford mistakes. We need to speak to Caelia and Neyra ASAP.

  Before picking up the phone, I swept my gaze across the room. No visible microphones—but that meant nothing. Even so, I dialed.

  —Supervisor Vogt —I said in Caroline’s voice—, I need to speak with you about some anomalies in the module six containment accounts.

  Caelia agreed without hesitation, and when I hung up, Velka’s look was a mix of pride and concern.

  —You’re good at this.

  —It’s not talent. It’s necessity.

  She sighed.

  —Then let’s do it. And get out of here alive.

  The silence that followed weighed heavier than any threat. We both knew tomorrow would be worse—

  and that Klara Weisshaupt had already begun to look at us differently.

  We kept going over notes and memories, but my mind couldn’t stop drifting back to the facility. Not to Klara, nor the sealed module, but to that feeling… as if something had broken away from there and followed me home, invisible, clinging to my shadow.

  I got up to close the curtains. Outside, the street was empty, yet I could swear a sliver of light shifted at the edge of my vision. I blinked, and it was gone.

  Velka came up without a sound, resting a warm hand on my shoulder.

  —Don’t lock yourself away in there —she murmured—. I need you with a clear head.

  —I’ll try —I said, not sure if she was speaking as Susanne or as Velka.

  She held my gaze a moment longer than necessary before guiding me toward the bed. Once we were lying down, our hands brushed over the sheets. It was a fleeting touch, but in that moment, it felt like the only real thing in all the lies we were living.

  I closed my eyes, yet the weight of that unseen presence lingered, as if it had found its way home.