Elis

The wind tore at the red strands that escaped from under her helmet and threw them in her face. The bike sped down the country road smoothly, powerfully. A black jeep flashed by, parked at the edge of the forest. A man stood next to it, flipping through some papers with a frown. Elis glanced at him—then immediately erased him from focus. But a dry, businesslike note clicked in her head: "not far from here, they found Mike's body. The police are still hanging around". She felt neither tremors nor cold. Just the steady hum of the engine and a harsh clarity: here, you can't relax. Not even for a second. She zipped past, and only at the edge of her consciousness noted: the man raised his head as if he wanted to see something but didn't have time. To him, she was just a flash of color and the roar of an engine. Two days later, the smell of the forest was replaced by the scent of paper and vanilla. The bookstore was full, warm, and noisy. Elis sat at a table, smiling as she wrote neat wishes. Her smile was calibrated: just enough warmth not to offend anyone, and just enough distance so no one got too deep. The line thinned out a bit, and a man stepped forward. Tall, calm, in a dark gray coat. Something clicked inside her like an old alarm: I’ve seen him before. Not in the store. On the roadside, by the black jeep, with papers in hand. He didn’t offer a book. Didn’t smile like everyone else. Just looked at her steadily, without fuss. "You’re not here for an autograph. Judging by your demeanor, you’re more like someone used to conducting interrogations. Considering the events from two weeks ago, you’re obviously a detective." Inside Elis didn’t flinch—she had long learned not to give emotions a chance. But her shoulder muscles tensed slightly as if before a sharp turn. She placed her pen on the table—neatly, without a sound. "I think you came because of Mike. Yes. It was hard. But I already told everything to the investigator a couple of weeks ago. If needed, I can repeat it." *Elis saw that the detective wasn’t just gathering facts. He was looking for discrepancies. Searching for that very crack through which her other side peeked.