The call comes on a Thursday.
Not dramatic.
Not midnight.
Midday.
Which somehow makes it worse.
Marcus is in the study on a call with the Berlin branch of the foundation. I’m in my office upstairs reviewing dissertation edits.
My phone buzzes.
Zara.
But not her usual number.
A new one.
I answer immediately.
“Zara?”
There’s noise in the background.
Music. Voices.
Then—
“Hey.”
Her voice is wrong.
Not frantic.
But too even.
“Where are you?”
“Berlin.”
“I know that. Where?”
Silence.
“Just… out.”
My stomach tightens.
“Are you safe?”
“Yeah.”
That’s not the right answer.
“Zara.”
Another pause.
“I need to tell you something.”
I sit down slowly.
“Okay.”
“I didn’t get the residency extension.”
The words land flat.
“What?”
“They gave it to someone else.”
“Zara—”
“
