Shadows We Haven’t Faced

Jessica arrived at the offices of Black Orchid Investigations early, before the Belizean sun could fully rise and melt the comfortable stillness of dawn. It had become a ritual lately, a brief space carved out between night and day where she could sit quietly, drinking bitter coffee and reading in the soft, yellow glow of an old lamp.

Today’s companion was a well-worn copy of Thus Spoke Zarathustra, its pages dog-eared, margins crowded with notes and questions scribbled hastily during her conversations with Sam. Jessica skimmed slowly, her eyes pausing on a line she’d circled weeks ago:

“He who has a why to live can bear almost any how.”

She exhaled quietly, wondering again about her own ‘why,’ and just how much she could bear.

She was still turning that question over when the office door swung open gently, Olivia stepping inside, a laptop tucked securely under one arm. She offered Jessica a brief smile, eyebrows raised at the early hour. “Philosophy before breakfast?”

Jessica smirked faintly, closing the book with deliberate care. “Philosophy instead of breakfast. Less messy.”

Olivia set her laptop down and stretched languidly, settling into the chair opposite Jessica. “Well, speaking of messy,” she said, turning the screen toward Jessica, “I’ve been pulling at your threads all night.”

Jessica leaned in closer, the words on the page forgotten. Olivia had displayed a map of Berlin, historical records layered over modern satellite imagery. At the heart was a cluster of red dots near the eastern part of the city, where the Wall once sliced it into two halves.

“East Berlin,” Olivia explained. “That old brass key Sam gave you, it matches safety deposit boxes issued by a state-run bank that closed in November 1989, days before the Wall came down.”

Jessica nodded slowly, her eyes locked onto the screen. Her heartbeat quickened slightly. “What happened to the bank afterward?”

“It shut down overnight. The assets, the records, everything inside were sealed by East German authorities and handed over to the newly unified government. Most of it got cataloged or sold off. But a few boxes never surfaced publicly.”

Jessica’s voice was low, thoughtful. “Hidden or forgotten?”

Olivia tilted her head, considering. “Hidden, I’d guess. Too deliberate to be accidental.”

Jessica stood, her chair scraping softly against the worn wood floor. She paced slowly across the room, fingers absently tracing the edge of the battered copy of Nietzsche as her mind raced. “Any idea who owns it now?”

Olivia exhaled, tapping her fingers lightly on the table. “It changed hands several times, private banks, holding companies. Today, it’s just an old building nobody pays attention to. I’ve made some calls; the security’s minimal, but there’s no official way in.”

Jessica glanced back, raising a brow. “So we do this unofficially?”

Olivia smiled wryly. “Is there another way?”

Jessica sighed, her eyes drifting toward the book again. She knew she’d long since abandoned the illusion of being purely good or entirely clean. Still, she hesitated, the weight of old shadows heavy on her shoulders.

“Zarathustra would say we choose our paths,” she murmured quietly, half to herself.

Olivia watched her closely, curiosity tinged with sympathy. “And what does Jessica Sanchez say?”

Jessica paused, thinking carefully before answering. “She says the past never really dies, does it? It just waits until you’re ready to face it.”

Olivia smiled faintly. “And you’re ready?”

Jessica met her gaze evenly, resolve returning slowly but unmistakably. “I don’t think I have a choice. Whoever killed that man won’t stop here. And whatever’s locked away in Berlin, someone thinks it matters.”

Leanna appeared quietly in the doorway, leaning comfortably against the frame. “Then it looks like we’re going to Berlin.”

Jessica turned to her, surprised. “You’re on board with this?”

Leanna shrugged slightly, calm and composed as always. “We’ve been down roads like this before. Vanguard, Dominion, now this. Maybe there’s never a clean ending, but maybe closure isn’t the point.”

Jessica’s lips curved into a thoughtful half-smile. “Been talking to Sam?”

Leanna smiled softly. “Maybe. Or maybe some things are just obvious if you’re looking from the outside.”

Jessica nodded slowly, grateful. “All right. Then let’s go carefully. I’m not rushing headlong this time. We do this right.”

Olivia nodded firmly. “I’ll book flights.”

Leanna glanced at the Nietzsche book lying open on the table, offering Jessica a wry look. “Does he have any advice for spies hunting Cold War ghosts?”

Jessica picked up the book gently, running her fingers over its worn spine, feeling the comforting weight of all those late-night conversations embedded in its pages.

“Nietzsche would probably say there are no ghosts,” Jessica replied softly. “Just shadows we haven’t faced yet.”

Leanna considered that carefully, then nodded slowly. “Then let’s turn on the lights.”

Jessica exhaled gently, feeling something inside her shift, not with dread, not even fear. Instead, it was acceptance, the quiet resolve born from facing down shadows over and over again.

“We fly tonight,” Jessica said calmly. “Tell Sam. And tell him not to worry.”

Olivia smiled faintly. “He’ll worry anyway.”

Jessica’s lips curved knowingly, her voice quiet but firm. “Yeah, but that’s what makes it worth fighting for.”

The three women fell silent, comfortable in the shared understanding of the task ahead. Jessica turned back toward the map on the laptop, her eyes tracing the intricate streets of Berlin, her mind already stepping back into the shadows.

But this time, she stepped willingly, no longer a pawn, no longer lost. Jessica Sanchez didn’t know everything. But she knew enough to keep going. And that, finally, was enough.