1944

February 1st 

96 avenue Victor Hugo, 

Paris France 

Matteo

February had arrived, and the windows of every apartment in Paris had been coated with a pale white layer of frost.

I got out of bed groggily, rubbing my eyes before putting on slippers and heading downstairs for breakfast.

The smell of porridge and hot chocolate seemed to waft through the air as I made my way down. I drummed my fingers across the Oakwood railings of the staircase, eager to greet Renada and Astraia.

The kitchen was empty, and the food that was still freshly made lay on the table, clearly untouched.

Astraia was not there.

And Renada too.

Next to the bowl was a scrap piece of paper that was torn out of Renada's bible, and scrawled in messy handwriting was a note stating:

Matteo,

Renada and I have headed out to the embassy. We have a business to attend to regarding the Wehrmacht. We shall tell you more once we have reached home.

Yours,

Astraia

PS: if we don't arrive back at the apartment by ten sharp, don't call Les gendarmes. Pack your things and run to monsieur Louis' bakery, you'll be safe there.

I reread the note several times.

It sounded highly suspicious and unlike Astraia , but at the same time I did somewhat understand that I could not call the police from the possibility of getting arrested nonetheless and