Night had fallen.
In the dimness of her room, bathed by the orange reflections of an outside streetlamp, Natsa stared at the ceiling with little interest. His phone suddenly vibrated, breaking the muffled silence of the room. He answered without checking the caller.
— Yo, my guy! came a familiar, cheerful, slightly slurred voice.
It was Claremont.
Laughter and bursts of voices echoed behind him. Glasses clinked, bags rustled, corks popped.
— Still locked up in your room? Come out a bit, old brother. I'm with Jonas, Malik, Torres, and Jeanne. We brought a bunch of leftovers from the party... and some drinks, of course.
An odor of alcohol seemed almost to seep through the speakers.
— Tomorrow is the big day, the famous meeting. Hope you're not too stressed?
— It's more for you to tell us if YOU'RE stressed, Jeanne said with a laugh in her voice.
— Look at him, he's completely drunk, Jonas mocked. He looks way too relaxed for someone who'd be stressed.
Laughter burst out immediately.
Claremont, laughing heartily, slammed a bottle on the table.
— Quality red wine. I'd love to chase this night away... but well, we have to be in shape tomorrow. I'm saving it. If all goes well... we'll open it to celebrate. What do you say, Natsa?
The concerned one paused.
— Meh. Depends on you guys.
Jeanne stared at him through the screen.
— Still so cold. I wonder why.
Claremont shrugged with a smile.
— Jeanne, don't worry. He's always like that. Well, alright, you can all go now.
The silhouettes drifted away one by one. But just as Natsa was about to hang up, Jeanne returned on screen, hesitant.
— Please... can I talk to you for a moment?
A few minutes later, they were both on the balcony. The night wind brushed their faces. Jeanne stared at the distant lights, not speaking right away.
— I'd like to know... if you have a problem with us, she whispered. You're always alone. You speak little...
Here we go again... thought Natsa.
If she only knew.
If she only knew that I didn't care at all about any of this.
That I just wanted... to waste time.
— It's nothing, he replied. I just like being alone. It relaxes me.
— Hmm... are you sure it's not the mission stressing you? Don't worry, there's little chance it'll go up in flames.
Little chance? She has no idea.
The Roskarov guys were humiliated by Claremont.
Their boss might show up himself tomorrow.
They don't want to kill him. They want to submit him. Crush him. Torture him if necessary.
— Jeanne... Is that it? Is that all you wanted to tell me?
She lowered her eyes, voice softer.
— For a young person like you... I find your behavior strange. It reminds me a bit of myself when I was younger.
— What exactly happened?
A silence. Long. Then she finally spoke.
— I always kept silent because of my traumas. And I thought... maybe you had some too. Hence all this silence.
— Traumas?
— When I was little... I wasn't in an ordinary family.
Her voice trembled slightly, but she continued.
— I was an orphan. I lived in a foster home. Until the day she came...
She stopped, as if reliving that moment.
— Her name was Maelys.
Natsa said nothing. He listened.
— She couldn't have children. So she chose me. I was 9 years old. She fed me, spoiled me, and gave me all the love a mother could offer. When I made a mistake, she would hit me... then hold me tightly in her arms. As if she was afraid of losing me.
Jeanne's eyes lost themselves in the night.
— I loved her so much. Until the day she met Sergueï. He was nice at first... then he lost his job. And he changed. He became violent. Very quickly, he started hitting me. Maelys tried to stop him, but he never stopped. One day, he even put me in a coma.
Natsa tensed slightly.
— And yet... Maelys still loved him. I didn't understand. One day she asked me if I loved him. I said "no." She didn't react badly. She just told me to give him a chance. And I accepted. For her.
She gave a sad smile.
— At school... I became a laughingstock. The others called me "the mummy"... because of the bandages, the bruises. All because of him.
A heavy silence.
— One day, I came home to show him an A+ in math. I was proud. I wanted Maelys to see it. And there, I saw her... on the floor, crying, while Sergueï was hitting her. I dropped my paper and ran to defend her. But he hit both of us.
She ran a hand through her hair, trembling.
— The next day, I told her it was too much. That she had to leave him. She slapped me. Saying I didn't understand, that I was too young. Then she hugged me... and apologized. She told me she was proud of my A+.
Her voice broke for a moment, but she continued.
— For her, I would have endured anything. But him... he was destroying her. When he hit me, I didn't care. But when he hit her... it was as if he was beating my very heart.
She started crying softly, without sobbing. Just tears.
— One day, the school summoned Maelys because of my behavior. I expected reproaches. But she just said: "You're not like that. I know you. It's Sergueï who's hurting you. We'll fix this. You, you go back to school, okay?"
She smiled, for a moment.
— I was relieved. I thought everything would get better.
A chilling silence.
— I was 12. I came home to tell her I had worked well. I was already imagining her smile. But the door was closed.
She closed her eyes.
— I went around the back. And there... I saw her. Maelys. Covered in blood. Lying on the ground. Dead.
She shuddered.
— Sergueï was there. He was digging a hole in the garden.
— I hid in the bushes. I saw everything. He buried her. Her. The one who loved me. The one who saved me.
A long silence.
— I ran into the street, crying, screaming. People looked at me. But no one understood.
That night, I came home at eight o'clock. The silence weighed heavily in my steps. My face was frozen in mute sadness, my tears already dry. I was no longer really there.
Sergueï was in the living room. He said to me, in an almost mocking tone:
— Is that when you come home?
I didn't answer. He met my gaze, then sighed.
— Go to your room. If you're hungry, I made food.
I was about to go when an idea crossed my mind. An obsession. A need to know.
— Where is Maelys?
He shrugged.
— Gone.
— Gone where?
— I don't know, she didn't want us anymore. She just left like that...
I almost exploded. Wanted to scream at him that he was lying. But I don't know why, that night, I held back my anger. I went to my room, silently. I didn't touch his meal. I slept on an empty stomach... an empty heart.
In the morning, I thought it was all a bad dream. But looking out the window, in the garden, that turned earth was still there. That little mound of dirt hiding Maelys's body. Her body.
At that moment, I understood I was empty. A shell. My heart had disappeared. My mother was no longer there. My smile neither.
After school, I went to the garden. I stood right above that mound of earth. I stared at the ground, without a word. I went back every evening, for five days. Always the same ritual. Silence. Pain.
The police eventually noticed Maelys's disappearance. They questioned Sergueï. He denied, of course. As if he didn't know what he had done. And it drove me crazy. He got away. Unpunished.
But what could I do?
One evening, while it was raining, I took the phone. Trembling, I dialed the police number. A voice answered:
— Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?
But Sergueï surprised me. He snatched the receiver from my hands.
— Sorry, wrong number. Really sorry, he said calmly to the officer, before hanging up.
Then he looked at me.
— You know everything, huh?
I froze. He screamed:
— You knew everything from the start, little idiot!!!
He slapped me. Then he raged. Violent blows. Blood flowed from my head, nose, mouth. I was on the ground. He screamed, beside himself:
— You think I don't see you sitting on her grave? You think I don't know what you're planning? You wanted to call the police, huh? You think you're smart?
He breathed heavily, like a beast.
— I never wanted to kill her! It was an accident! Do you hear me? An accident! I was hitting... I didn't realize... I didn't want to...
His words broke me more than his blows.
I saw Maelys in my head, smiling at me.
When he finished, he whispered:
— Tomorrow, I'm sending you back to the orphanage. I'll say you're losing your mind.
But I didn't care.
I went back to my room, dragging behind me a red, wet, warm trail. My blood.
I sat down, trembling. I cried. I thought of her, again. And again. Maelys.
Then... something changed in me.
I didn't understand. It was new. A look I had never known in myself. I was thirsty. Not for water. Not for pity.
I was thirsty for life. For justice. For revenge.
I went down to the kitchen. I took a knife.
He was sleeping. Peacefully. After all he had done. He was sleeping.
I entered his room, the rain beating the windows, covering my steps.
I approached.
And I began.
The knife silently pierced his flesh. Into his eyes. He screamed. Blind, panicked.
— Jeanne... is that you doing this?
I didn't answer. I struck again. And again.
He begged. I didn't listen.
I struck.
Even when he was dead, I didn't stop. His head barely hung on.
I was covered in blood. Exhausted. But free.
I sat next to him, looking at his corpse, emotionless.
Then I took the phone, dialed the police number. The officer answered:
— Hello?
— Come. I'll give you the address.
— What happened?
— I did it. I killed Sergueï.
I left the room and went to the garden. The rain washed the blood off me. I sat near Maelys's grave.
I regretted nothing.
The police arrived. They were horrified to see the mutilated body. They found me outside, soaked, silent. They handcuffed me.
At the station, they questioned me. I told everything. Everything.
It was live, broadcast everywhere. A twelve-year-old girl. The whole world watching me.
They asked me:
— Do you regret what you did?
I shook my head. No.
— He took my heart, I took his life.
Some saw me as a little devil, a heartless child, fit for prison. Others, simply a kid who took justice into her own hands.
But I knew.
It wasn't justice.
It was the end....
I was 19 when I got out of prison.
Six long years.
Six years of replaying the scene over and over in my head.
Six years of silence, cold walls, heavy looks, and voices judging without understanding.
I had become an urban legend.
The little girl who stabbed her guardian to death.
The kid with the empty gaze, who didn't flinch before the cameras.
"He took my heart... I took his life."
Some said I was the devil.
Others, an avenging angel.
But I felt nothing anymore.
Just a shell, again... but a harder, thicker shell, and above all... alone.
I planned to end it all.
I had every detail planned. A letter, a place, a time.
I hadn't told anyone. No one would have cried anyway.
But that day, as I walked through this city I no longer recognized, I crossed paths with Claremont.
He looked nothing like anything I had known.
His suit was too clean, his eyes too sharp.
He looked at me as if he already knew everything about me.
Not just what I had done. But what I was.
What I had lost.
— "Jeanne," he said calmly.
— "Who are you?" I whispered, wary.
He handed me a handkerchief. It was still raining, like that night.
— "Someone who knows what it's like to not want to live anymore. But who found a reason to stay. And I believe... you can do the same."
I shrugged.
— "Why me?"
He answered with disarming simplicity: — "Because you've known true injustice. Not the kind you read about in books. The kind that leaves scars beneath the skin. And despite that... you're still standing."
I started to laugh. A broken laugh.
— "You take me for a hero?"
— "No. But you could become something much rarer: a vigilante."
He told me about a project. A network.
Lost causes, broken kids, trampled women, people forgotten by the systems.
All those no one defended.
He didn't need me to kill. He already had his soldiers.
But he needed me to understand. To see what others didn't see.
To know where the pain hides... and where justice must strike.
He handed me a card. I hesitated. Then I looked into his eyes. They didn't lie.
That night, I pushed death away... and chose to follow him.
Not to save myself. But to give meaning to this void.
I had no heart left. No soul.
But I had a memory.
And it still screamed Maelys's name.
So, I decided to live... so that others like her wouldn't have to die.
And Claremont told me:
— "Welcome to the real life, Jeanne. You were born twice. The first time, they destroyed you. The second... you will destroy those who break others."