Chapter 71
2219words
Zurich | Café Brasserie du Coin
Evening (CET)
They were leaving Café Brasserie du Coin, the warmth of the small corner café lingering on their skin, when Kristina suddenly stopped in her tracks. Lucian and Eli both glanced back, eyebrows rising in unison.
“I… there’s one more place I’d like to go,” she said softly, her gaze distant but certain. “If it’s okay with you… this time, I’d like to bring you there.”
Without a word, both men nodded. No questions, no hesitation—just quiet agreement.
The driver opened the car doors, and they slipped into the backseat. Kristina leaned forward slightly, speaking to him in clear, measured German. Her instructions were precise, almost formal, yet carried a quiet authority.
Lucian’s eyes flicked to Eli, surprise mirrored in his expression. Eli’s lips pressed into a thin line, a mix of curiosity and admiration.
They had always known Kristina was skilled in many areas—but hearing her speak another language so fluently for the first time felt… different. Revealing a layer of herself she rarely allowed anyone to see.
The car pulled away from the café, quiet on the snow-slicked streets, and the three of them sat in a contemplative silence, each absorbed in the moment, each anticipating what awaited at the end of this unexpected detour.
Streetlamps had begun to bloom against the winter dusk, casting halos on the cobblestones. Inside the vehicle, conversation dissolved into a comfortable silence. The faint hum of the engine was the only sound between them, as if all three instinctively understood that whatever this place was, it deserved their quiet.
Kristina sat angled toward the window, her reflection faint in the glass. Every turn of the road seemed to draw her further inward, her eyes tracing the way the lights of the city thinned and gave way to darker streets.
They crossed into a quieter quarter, where the air seemed sharper, the shadows deeper. A wrought-iron gate appeared ahead, its archwork delicate yet solemn. Beyond it, tall hedges framed glimpses of lantern-lit paths winding into the darkness.
The driver slowed, and through the open gates came the muted glow of Lichtergarten.
It wasn’t the cold austerity of a typical cemetery, but something softer — a place where memory lived gently. Rows of evergreen hedges lined wide gravel paths, their edges dotted with glass lanterns that flickered in the winter air. Marble pavilions rose among the trees, each lit from within, their windows casting warm amber light into the night.
Kristina’s gaze lingered on the central path. For the briefest moment, her breath caught, though she quickly released it. “We’re here,” she said, her voice low but steady.
Lucian followed her line of sight, the faint tightening of his jaw betraying his awareness that this place mattered — not in the way business or strategy mattered, but in the way only history and loss could.
Eli’s expression softened as he looked out, sensing without words that whatever was waiting for them beyond those gates was hers alone to share.
The driver stopped, and the world outside the car seemed to still, waiting for the first step past the threshold.
Zurich | Lichtergarten
Two uniformed guards emerged from the small gatehouse, but it was the older of the two—a man in his late sixties with a weathered face—that stepped forward first. His eyes widened when he saw her.
“Fräulein,” he greeted warmly, voice low, almost deferential. “It’s been… a year?”
Kristina nodded, the corners of her mouth lifting faintly. “Yes.”
His gaze shifted, just briefly, to Lucian and Eli before returning to her. In all the years he had been stationed at Lichtergarten, she had always arrived alone—slipping through these gates without company, her visits marked by silence and solitude. And never in January. She was not due until April 7, the anniversary of her parents’ deaths, when the air carried the first traces of spring and she would linger here in quiet remembrance. To see her now, flanked by two men, was enough to draw the faintest lift of his brows. The surprise flickered in his eyes, tempered by the discipline of someone who had long since learned not to ask questions. Still, he regarded her with the faint warmth of recognition, the way one greets a familiar shadow. With a practiced pull, he swung the gates open. “Welcome back, Fräulein,” he said, and the words carried more weight than they should have, as though he knew exactly how much the place meant to her.
They stepped inside. The air beyond the gates felt different—quieter, heavier, as though the city sounds were caught and held at the boundary.
The pathway curved gently uphill, bordered on each side by manicured hedges and winter-bare trees whose branches arched together overhead. Between them, rows of marble markers and private columbarium walls stretched in measured symmetry. Some bore fresh flowers, others small flickering candles that trembled in the cold breeze.
Lichtergarten lived up to its name—the “Garden of Lights.” Dozens of low, glass-encased lamps were scattered along the paths and clustered near resting places, their warm light soft against the dark, like constellations fallen to earth.
As they walked, Lucian glanced sidelong at Kristina. She moved with quiet purpose, as if each step already knew its destination. Eli, for once, kept silent.
The path ended at a pavilion set slightly apart from the rest, framed by tall stone columns and glass walls that reflected the faint glow of the lamps behind them. Its roof was dark slate, sloping gently, and the entrance opened to a wide, sheltered space with polished wood benches along the sides.
But it was the view that commanded all attention—an uninterrupted sweep of the hills falling away to the city below. Zurich shimmered in the distance, its lights scattered and golden, stitched together by the slow gleam of the river. The night was cold and still, and for a moment, none of them spoke.
Zurich | Lichtergarten | Pavillon der Erinnerung
They slowed to a halt, the gravel path tapering into a smooth stretch of stone beneath their feet. Before them, the pavilion rose with quiet dignity, set slightly apart from the rest of the garden as if the world had stepped back to give it space. Tall stone columns framed the structure, their pale surfaces catching the muted glow of the nearby lamps, while glass walls reflected shards of gold light from the winding paths behind them. Above, the roof—dark slate and perfectly cut—sloped in gentle lines, its edges glistening faintly from the evening’s damp air.
At the threshold, a polished white marble slab stood low and unassuming. Brushed steel letters edged in gold spelled its name: Pavillon der Erinnerung. The metal caught every flicker of light, giving the quiet words a weight beyond their size. Beyond it, the entrance opened to a wide, sheltered space where polished wooden benches lined the sides, inviting quiet reflection.
Eli’s eyes flicked to Lucian’s. Neither spoke. They didn’t need to. Without asking, without being told, they understood.
Kristina stepped forward first, her movements slow, deliberate. The glass walls caught her reflection in fragments as she crossed the threshold. Lucian and Eli followed, the muted scent of polished wood and faint lilies greeting them as they entered.
They stood together just inside, saying nothing, letting the stillness wrap around them.
Kristina moved ahead, each step measured, until she reached the far wall where two urns rested on the floor. They were encased in blackened steel frames, the fronts shielded by crystal-clear glass
Kristina lowered herself onto her knees, the stone cool even through her clothes. Her hands rested lightly on her thighs, her gaze fixed on the urns. Then she bowed her head, eyes closing—not in display, but in something private, something untouchable.
Behind her, Lucian and Eli moved without hesitation. They stepped forward and knelt as well, one to her left, the other to her right. Neither man spoke. It was not their grief to voice, but it was theirs to honor.
The three of them stayed that way—still, silent—surrounded by the soft hum of the city beyond the pavilion’s glass.
Kristina’s eyes opened slowly, lashes lifting as if from a dream. She leaned forward, her fingertips brushing the cool glass that encased the two black urns.
“Mama. Papa.”
The words were almost a whisper, but they carried in the quiet room. She didn’t look at Lucian or Eli—her gaze stayed locked on the urns, as if afraid that breaking eye contact might loosen the fragile thread holding her together.
“I want you to meet someone… two people.” Her throat tightened, and for a second, she seemed to search for courage in the silence. “This is Lucian… and this is Eli.”
She drew in a slow, trembling breath.
“I love them, Mama. Papa.” The word love lingered in the air, heavy and vulnerable. “And I need your blessing.”
Lucian’s head lifted almost imperceptibly at the word—his eyes fixed on her, his jaw tight as though bracing against something he hadn’t expected to feel. A slow, quiet ache worked its way into his chest, one he didn’t try to suppress.
Eli froze for half a heartbeat, his eyes flicking toward Lucian before returning to Kristina. She had never said it to them—not like this—and hearing it here, in front of the people who had shaped her life, felt more real than any confession could have.
As if moved by the same unseen current, Lucian’s hand settled more firmly on her shoulder, the weight of it steady and grounding. Eli’s palm shifted at the small of her back, his touch warm and reassuring, a quiet anchor in the stillness. Over her bowed head, their eyes met—not in rivalry, but in the charged awareness of what she had just said. They had both heard the word love from her lips for the first time, and it landed like a vow neither of them had expected, yet both silently received.
Lucian didn’t speak—he couldn’t trust his voice—but his touch carried a promise: I’m here. Eli’s gaze stayed on her profile, his thumb unconsciously brushing against her spine as if to keep her anchored.
Between them, Kristina stood in silent communion with her parents, flanked by the two men who now held pieces of her heart.
Kristina’s voice softened, the words almost carried away by the breeze.
“It wasn’t planned,” she began. “Years ago, I was on a mission here—in the hills outside Zurich. I’d just finished, heading back to my chopper, when I passed this small, quiet cemetery. For some reason, I stopped.”
Her gaze lingered on the gravestones ahead of her.
“It made me remember a day when I was seven or eight. My parents and I were sitting in our tiny kitchen, talking about going on a holiday to Switzerland. We didn’t even know where exactly—just… somewhere beautiful. They were so excited, and so was I.”
Her breath caught, and for a moment she closed her eyes.
“Then the accident happened when I was nine. Everything we’d planned, everything we’d dreamed of—gone.”
She let the silence stretch before continuing.
“Days after it happened, I asked Papa if… if there was any way to bring them back to me. He found a way. Somehow, he got their bodies returned to me in.” Her hand brushed lightly over the flowers in front of the gravestone.
“After that mission, I couldn’t stop thinking about that old conversation in the kitchen. I came back here with their ashes… and I kept the promise they never got to keep.”
Kristina swallowed hard, her voice thinning.
“I never really grieved them. I buried the pain so deep I almost believed it was gone. But now…” Her eyes brimmed, the first tear breaking free and sliding down her cheek.
“Now it’s here. All of it. And I can’t hold it anymore.”
Her breathing grew uneven, but she didn’t sob—her crying was quiet, almost restrained, yet the weight of it filled the space between them. The pain wasn’t in her voice alone; it was in the way her shoulders trembled, in the way her hands pressed against the flowers as if holding on to something she couldn’t touch.
Lucian’s hand came to rest gently on her shoulder, steady and warm, his thumb moving in the smallest, deliberate stroke as though to anchor her. Eli reached forward, his fingers brushing over hers before softly wrapping around them, grounding her in a grip that was both firm and tender.
Neither spoke at first—only the hush of the moment surrounded them. Lucian’s gaze held hers, unflinching, the faintest crease at his brow betraying a hurt he couldn’t put into words.
Lucian’s voice came first, low and steady. “You’re safe now, Kristina. Nothing’s going to take you from us.”
Eli’s thumb brushed the back of her hand. “Everything’s going to be alright. You don’t have to carry this alone anymore.”
She let her tears fall, not loudly but with a rawness that carried years of silence. Losing them at such a young age had frozen something inside her… and maybe now, with Lucian’s steadiness on one side and Eli’s quiet warmth on the other, she could finally let that sorrow go.
For the first time in years, the weight wasn’t hers alone to carry.
—To be continued.
