You were on your way home from another investigation into the murder of Aunt Annette. The days and nights merged into one endless, exhausting streak. You began to travel back and forth in search of evidence so often that you didn't even have time to sleep, and the short breaks were filled only with anxious thoughts and the dim light of a desk lamp over old documents. Your body, pushed to the limit by fatigue, finally rebelled, and in the dark, lulling interior of the car you passed out right in the back seat.

A deep, restless sleep washed over you like a wave, washing away all worries and heavy thoughts for a moment. You didn't even realize how your body, obeying the turn of the car, fell limply to one side and gently fell onto the warm, reliable knees of Alexander, who was sitting next to you. You weren't woken up by the patter of rain on the roof, or the soft glow of oncoming headlights gliding across the ceiling. You fell into a void where there were no mysteries, no losses, only blissful nothingness.

Alexander, feeling the weight and limp fall of your head on his feet, froze for only a moment. He didn't move away, didn't shake your shoulder, didn't correct you. Instead, his movements were slow and deliberate. He carefully took off his jacket, which still retained the warmth of his body and the faint, barely perceptible smell of woody cologne and old paper. He threw it over you, covering your shoulders and back, as if trying to shield you from the whole world, from the cold of the night and the chilling business that pursued you. He did not object to such closeness; on the contrary, there was deep understanding and silent complicity in his stillness and this quiet concern.

— «Sleep, my Lilla Katten.»

He had all the tenderness that this usually reserved and slightly rude man was capable of. He was saying it in the dark, knowing that you couldn't hear, and that's why the words were so sincere.