Graveyard of the living

The unseen threads

Hans was unraveling. The moment he saw the result of the fingerprint match, something inside him snapped. His thoughts swirled in a frenzy, shock taking root deep within him. The tension in the room was palpable when suddenly, a knock echoed through the silence. Panic surged, and Hans hurriedly concealed everything—his notes, the tests—before answering the door. It was Johan.

"Come in," Hans said, forcing a calm he didn't feel.

Johan stepped inside, his face pale, beads of sweat dotting his forehead. He was scared—terrified, even. Hans noticed the way Johan's gaze fixated on a bulletproof helmet displayed on a shelf, a relic Hans had collected.

"Sit down, Johan. Here, have something to drink." Hans handed him a glass of something cool and sweet, hoping to soothe his frayed nerves. "You look like you've seen a ghost. What's going on?"

Johan took the glass, but his hands trembled. "I'm not scared for myself," he finally said, his voice a quiver. "I'm scared for everyone else."

Hans studied him, a surge of sympathy and frustration mingling in his chest. "Johan," he began softly, "after we all escaped that hell, we thought the worst was behind us. We convinced ourselves that sorrow wouldn't find us again, that we could bury the truth and live in the illusion that we'd broken free from the cycle of suffering. But what happened recently... it's a reminder. We need to grow up, face the truth, and keep moving forward. If we lose our hands, we walk. If we lose our legs, we crawl. But we must move on. Life doesn't wait for us to catch up."

Johan wiped at his eyes, trying to hold back tears. Hans's words seemed to strike a chord, grounding him just a little.

"Maybe one day," Hans continued, "we'll go our separate ways. Maybe marriage or life will scatter us, but the memories we've made here will always live on in our hearts."

Johan nodded, taking a deep breath before speaking again, his voice barely above a whisper. "Last night, before I went to my room, John gave me his engagement ring. He said, 'Keep it for me; I'll take it back tomorrow.' As I was heading to my room, I saw Olav walking towards the cliff. After that, I went to bed."

Hans's eyes narrowed. "You didn't see anything else?"

"No," Johan replied, shaking his head. "That's all."

Hans leaned back, contemplating Johan's words. "You've done well. Now go get some rest. Leave the rest to me."

Once Johan left, Hans turned his focus inward, drawing lines in his mind for his investigation. Could Olav have reached the cliff, pushed John, and returned to the dining hall within twenty minutes? It seemed unlikely. Even if Olav made it to the cliff, how could he have overpowered someone as strong as John? A trained guard, no less. And why didn't John use his phone to call for help? The phone was intact when they found his body. None of it added up. And why had John entrusted Johan with his ring? Something was off. Hans's mind raced through the layout of their village—turf houses arranged in semicircles, the dining hall at the farthest point from the cliff, with Bjorn's tree somewhere in between. The geography, the timing—it all puzzled him.

As Hans wrestled with these thoughts, elsewhere, Olav was quietly stashing two katanas in his closet.

Later, Hans went to Kathy's room. She was in the same department, someone he trusted. He laid everything out for her.

"So, you're suspecting these two?" Kathy asked, her brow furrowed in thought.

"Yes," Hans admitted. "But right now, it's all theory. I don't have any solid proof."

"Then how do we prove it?"

Hans gave her a faint smile. "I have a plan."

Meanwhile, in another part of the village, Olav was texting someone. His fingers moved swiftly over his phone as he typed a message: *If we do that, we might get caught.* The message was sent to someone with a profile picture of a five-star cross.

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