Mattheo is slouched on the sofa with an untouched glass of whisky in his hand; the ice has long since melted. The silence in the room is oppressive until a phone starts ringing.

He glances at the screen. Unknown Number

His brow furrows, but he picks it up. "Hello?" Mattheo says.

A familiar voice answers, broken and hesitant. "Mattheo? I… it’s me, Tom," Tom says, as if the words burn his throat.

Mattheo’s spine stiffens. "What do you want?" he asks sharply.

"I know you don’t want to talk to me. I wouldn’t either. But I had to call you," Tom says quickly. He sounds exhausted. "I needed to tell you something. And… and I don’t know how else to say it."

There’s a long pause.

"You were right," Tom finally says, his voice cracking. "She would’ve been better off with you."

Mattheo doesn’t speak. He’s too still now.

"I couldn’t protect her," Tom goes on, barely above a whisper. "I tried, Mattheo. I swear I tried. But I failed. She’s gone… brother."

The silence that follows is deafening. Mattheo slowly rises to his feet, the phone pressed tightly to his ear.

"What do you mean gone?" he demands.

"I mean…" Tom hesitates, as if even saying it hurts. "She just… disappeared."

"You let her walk into this alone," he says quietly. "And now you call to tell me she's gone?"

"I didn’t call to make excuses," Tom says. "I called to tell you the truth. And there’s… there’s one more thing."

Mattheo doesn’t answer, but the silence invites Tom to continue.

"This morning, I found something," Tom says. "On my desk. A slip of paper. No name. No handwriting I recognized. Just one line."

He pauses, and Mattheo hears him swallow.

"'Don’t believe what you see. The fire never burned me,'” Tom reads aloud. "Does that mean anything to you?"

Mattheo freezes.

Memories crash down on him like waves — your voice, laughing by the fire; the way you’d look at him, daring him to believe in impossible things. And that phrase. The one you used to whisper with a smirk when you wanted him to know you were still fighting.

"It’s her," Mattheo whispers, almost to himself. "That’s what she used to say… when things got bad. When she wanted me to know she wasn’t giving up."

"You think she’s alive?" Tom asks.

"I don’t think," Mattheo replies. "I know."

"Then find her, brother. If anyone can… it’s you," Tom says, his voice quiet now.

Mattheo lowers the phone slowly. The silence returns, but this time it is not empty.

He walks over to a drawer, opens it and places a small photograph of you on the table. He stares at it for a long moment, then whispers to the image, as though making a promise: 'I’m coming for you.'