Tomasz’s words hung in the humid air, heavy with a command Anka instinctively bristled against. Krystian didn't move immediately, his gaze fixed on Anka for another drawn-out beat, a silent message passing between them before he deliberately lowered his hand from the sculpture. “I’m fine, Tomasz,” Anka said, her voice firmer than she expected, though a tremor still ran through her. She took a small step away from Krystian, not because she wanted to, but because Tomasz’s posture remained rigid, projecting a stiff authority she didn't want to challenge. “We were just talking.” Tomasz ignored her, his eyes still locked on Krystian. “Borowicz. This is a private conservatory. Students are not permitted here after hours without express permission.” His tone was flat, devoid of emotion, yet it carried an implicit threat. Krystian merely raised an eyebrow, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touching his lips. He didn’t offer a defense, didn’t challenge, just held Tomasz’s stare with an unsettling stillness. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, until Tomasz broke it, turning toward Anka. “Anka, come with me. Now.” The 'now' was laced with an urgency that left no room for argument. He didn't wait for her, simply turned and began to walk, expecting her to follow. Anka glanced back at Krystian, who was now slowly turning back to his work, his shoulders slightly hunched. His gaze lingered, steady and unreadable. She felt a pang, a sense of an unfinished conversation, a nascent connection severed too soon. Hesitantly, she followed Tomasz out of the glasshouse, the heavy door thudding shut behind her, sealing Krystian and his silent world away. The corridor was brightly lit, a stark contrast to the verdant shadows they'd left behind. Tomasz didn’t speak until they were halfway down the long hall, his pace brisk. “He’s not someone you want to associate with, Anka. He’s trouble. The academy has its reasons for keeping him on a short leash.” “What reasons?” Anka asked, her voice quiet. She knew about the rumors, but the way Tomasz spoke, it felt like he knew more, something concrete. He stopped abruptly, turning to face her, his expression grim. “He was suspected in Lilia Vodyanoy’s disappearance. The authorities may not have found enough to charge him, but the whispers here are louder than any official decree. He was the last person seen with her. Think about that, Anka.” His eyes bore into hers, a warning as clear as the Baltic sky. “My duty is to ensure your safety. And that includes protecting you from those who might seek to exploit your position, or worse.” His words, combined with Ludmila’s attack on Janek and the bakery, solidified Anka’s resolve. The dynastic name was an ornate trap, and she needed to find a way out, for both her and Janek. She couldn’t rely on others, not even Tomasz, whose protection felt increasingly like a form of gilded surveillance. She needed to arm herself with knowledge. The next morning, Anka sat in the private suite's study, a room she’d only glimpsed before. The polished oak desk was massive, dwarfing her. She accessed the private academy network, her new security clearance granting her unprecedented access. Her initial goal was singular: research Janek’s rare genetic illness, hoping to find obscure treatments, experimental drugs, anything that wasn't available to them in the ordinary world. The academy’s archives were vast, seemingly endless. She typed Janek’s condition into the search bar, navigating complex medical databases, but her focus wavered. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, a different thought emerging. What if Lilia had faced similar challenges? What if her family’s immense resources had been used for something more personal than just political maneuvering? A long shot, perhaps, but a desperate one. Anka searched for ‘Lilia medical records’, then ‘Lilia personal files’. The first returned nothing. The second brought up a single, heavily encrypted directory, marked 'Personal Vault – Level Omega Clearance Required'. Anka tried her assigned password, then a few common variants, all to no avail. The encryption was formidable, far beyond the scope of a bakery apprentice. She needed help. And one name immediately sprang to mind: Marek Jaroslaw. She found him in the student council office, a sleek, minimalist space with panoramic views of the island. He was hunched over a holographic display, lines of complex code scrolling across the ethereal screen. He looked up as she entered, his perfect composure momentarily ruffled, a flicker of surprise in his cerulean eyes. “Anka. To what do I owe the… unexpected visit?” He straightened, offering a polite, almost practiced smile. “Marek, I need your help,” she said, cutting straight to the point. “With something technical. Something highly sensitive.” His smile tightened slightly, his gaze sharpening. “Sensitive, you say?” His eyes assessed her, weighing the implications. “Is this related to… recent developments?” “It’s related to Lilia,” Anka admitted, a calculated risk. She couldn’t afford to be vague. “Her personal files. They’re encrypted, and I can’t get in.” Marek’s expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze – curiosity, perhaps, or a hint of his family’s famed acquisitiveness for information. “Lilia’s personal files,” he repeated slowly. “That’s a rather bold request. Even for an heiress.” He paused, then continued, his voice lower, almost conspiratorial. “The family archives are legendary. If she went to such lengths to secure something, it must be significant. Why do you need access?” Anka met his gaze. “Because I need to know this family. I need to know Lilia. If I’m to survive here, I need to know what she knew, what she faced. And perhaps,” she added, a note of vulnerability in her voice, “find answers that might help me secure my own future, away from… all of this.” Marek studied her for a long moment, the hum of his holographic display the only sound. He finally nodded. “Very well. Consider it a continuation of our dance, Anka. Information for… future leverage.” He gestured to a chair. “Bring me your terminal. This will take some time, and discretion.” Hours later, back in her study, Marek worked with quiet intensity, his fingers flying across a portable console connected to her desk terminal. Lines of code scrolled, programs ran, and the air crackled with anticipation. Anka watched, her heart thrumming with a nervous energy she hadn't felt since her first day at Ostrov. A soft chime from the console heralded success. “There,” Marek said, leaning back, a faint flush on his cheeks. “It seems your predecessor was rather… particular about her privacy. A series of complex nested algorithms, a custom-built decryption key. Impressive, for someone her age.” Anka leaned forward, her eyes fixed on the screen. The 'Personal Vault' folder was now open. Inside, a single file, labeled 'Chronicle.vid'. With a trembling finger, Anka clicked it. A video player launched, and Lilia’s face, younger, yet unmistakably familiar from Krystian’s sculpture, filled the screen. Lilia looked pale, her collarbones sharp against her shirt, but her chin stayed tilted up. Her voice, clear and surprisingly strong, filled the room. “If you’re watching this, then I’ve finally done it. I’ve gone. I can’t live like this anymore. The expectations, the endless calculations, the forced smiles, the arranged future… it’s not a life. It’s a gilded cage.” She ran a hand through her dark hair, a tremor in her fingers. “They don't care. They never will. So I’m leaving. Forever.” Anka gasped, a sharp intake of breath. The disappearance wasn't a kidnapping. It was an escape. The truth, stark and shocking, reverberated through her. Lilia hadn't been a victim; she had been a rebel. “I’ve prepared for this,” Lilia continued, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Months of planning. A failsafe. It’s a trust, hidden deep within the old estate ledgers, disguised as a dormant investment fund. It’s accessible only by a voice command, a phrase only I know. Enough to disappear completely. To start a new life, somewhere they’ll never find me. A real life.” A flicker of hope, fragile but bright, touched her face. Anka’s mind raced. A failsafe. A way out. Not just for Lilia, but for *her*. For Janek. This was it. This was the answer she'd been desperately searching for. Her goal had irrevocably shifted. It wasn't just about surviving Ostrov now; it was about finding that failsafe, securing it, and using it to build a future for her and Janek, far away from this dangerous, deceptive world. The video clicked forward to a new entry, dated much later. Lilia’s face was gaunt, her skin pulled tight over hollow cheeks. The faint hope from the previous entry was entirely gone, replaced by a deep, chilling terror. She looked directly into the camera, her lips barely moving, her voice a desperate, barely audible rasp. “He found out. Olgierd knows everything.”

The Ghost in the Machine