What Freedom Means

The whiskey burned on the way down. Jessica set the glass back on the polished bar top, watching the way the amber liquid caught the dim light.

The hotel bar was quiet. It was late enough that most of the guests had disappeared, early enough that the city outside was still alive. A jazz standard drifted through the speakers, soft and distant, something slow and melancholy.

Across from her, Olivia and Leanna sat in the booth, watching her. She hadn’t said much since they had left the monastery. She hadn’t needed to. The weight of it was there, in the way she held her glass, the way she leaned back in the chair as if she were carrying something too heavy to put down.

Leanna finally broke the silence. “So. Are you gonna tell us what’s actually going on in that head of yours?”

Jessica exhaled through her nose. “You read the same thing I did.”

You were never meant to leave.

She took another sip of whiskey. “That’s a hell of a thing to read about yourself.”

Olivia’s voice was quiet but steady. “But what does it mean to you?”

Jessica let the question sit there for a long moment. Then she tilted her head, watching the way the ice in her glass fractured under the dim bar light, “It means I’m still in a game I didn’t sign up for.” She set the glass down. “It means someone, somewhere, decided that people like me, whatever that means, aren’t supposed to be free.”

Leanna studied her. “And you believe them?”

Jessica’s laugh was low, dry. “Of course not.” Then, softer she added, “But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m here, does it?”

Leanna drummed her fingers against the table, her gaze sharp. “You think this is fate?”

Jessica shook her head. “No. I don’t believe in fate.”

She leaned back in the chair, stretching her fingers over the rim of her glass.

“Nietzsche said that man is a rope, stretched between the animal and the overman.” She glanced between them. “A rope. Pulled in two directions. Stuck in between.” A pause. Then, quieter: “That’s what I feel like. Like I’m somewhere between what I was and what I’m supposed to be.”

Olivia’s voice was gentle. “And what’s that?”

Jessica exhaled slowly. “That’s the part I don’t know.”

She traced a drop of condensation down the glass. “I thought I was free. I thought I left all of this behind. But now I’m looking at a piece of parchment that says I’ve been part of this for centuries.”

Her lips pressed together. “So tell me. Was I ever really free? Or was I always meant to end up here?”

The words hung between them, heavy with something unsaid.

Olivia was the one to answer, “You were free, Jess. You still are.”

Jessica let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head.

Olivia narrowed her eyes. “I’m serious.”

She leaned forward. “Look, I know you. And I know you don’t believe in fate. But I also know you’re scared.”

Jessica’s gaze flicked to hers.

Olivia continued. “You’re afraid that no matter how far you run, you’ll never actually be free. That there’s some invisible hand moving you around like a pawn on a board.”

She exhaled. “But maybe the real question isn’t ‘Was I always meant to end up here?’ Maybe it’s ‘What do I do now that I’m here?’”

Jessica let the words settle. She reached for her drink again. The ice had melted, the whiskey weaker now. She didn’t have an answer for that yet. Leanna leaned back, rolling the base of her own glass between her fingers.

“You ever think you’re overcomplicating it?”

Jessica raised an eyebrow. “Enlighten me.”

Leanna smirked. “Zorba the Greek. You told me once that he had the right idea. He didn’t waste his time on existential crises. He danced. He lived.”

Jessica exhaled, shaking her head. “You think I should just drink more wine and pretend none of this matters?”

Leanna shrugged. “I think you’re asking the wrong questions.”

Jessica narrowed her eyes.

Leanna took a slow sip of her drink, then set it down.

“You want to know if you were meant to be here. If you were ever really free. But what does freedom even mean?”

She tapped a finger against the rim of her glass.

“If you’re just reacting to everything that happens to you, are you free?”

Jessica didn’t answer.

Leanna continued. “The Little Prince said, ‘What makes the desert beautiful is that somewhere it hides a well.’”

Jessica let out a quiet laugh. “That’s a hell of a leap.”

Leanna tilted her head. “Is it?”

She held Jessica’s gaze. “You’re focused on the desert. But maybe you should be looking for the well.”

Jessica studied her for a long moment. Then she exhaled and picked up her glass, taking a slow sip. She didn’t know if she was ready to hear that. But maybe she needed to.

* * *

The conversation settled into quiet, into the comfortable hum of the bar, into the weight of whiskey and unspoken things. It wasn’t until later, after they had gone upstairs, after the long silence of an empty hotel hallway, that Jessica saw it.

The envelope. Slipped under her door. Unmarked. She knelt down, picking it up carefully. Inside she found a single folded piece of paper. Her stomach twisted as she unfolded it.

“This is not the first time we have met.”

Jessica stared at the words. Something cold curled in her chest. She let out a slow breath and closed her eyes. The past wasn’t done with her yet. It wasn’t just chasing her. It was waiting for her to remember.