The Cost of Silence

Jessica walked through the streets of Avignon with the practiced ease of someone used to being hunted.

She had changed clothes, stolen from a clothesline behind an old café. Her wet jeans and jacket were long gone, left in a side alley for someone else to find.

She didn’t check over her shoulder. Didn’t need to. She could feel them. Whoever they were, they weren’t done. But neither was she. They assumed she would forget. But she hadn’t. She remembered enough to know forgetting had never been an option.

* * *

Leanna had given her an address. Jessica found it just off Place Pie, tucked between an old bookstore and a patisserie that smelled of butter and warm sugar. It was a small bistro, nearly empty in the late afternoon.

Jessica stepped inside. Leanna and Olivia were already at a back table, a bottle of wine between them. Jessica pulled out a chair and sat.

“Tell me this isn’t a trap.”

Leanna smirked. “You’re the one who always walks into them, not me.”

Jessica arched a brow. “That supposed to make me feel better?”

Leanna just poured her a glass of wine. “Drink. You look like hell.”

Jessica took the glass. Didn’t argue.

Then, softly—“Who are we meeting?”

Olivia leaned forward.

“We don’t know his real name,” she admitted. “But he worked with the Jesuits. Or for them. Or against them. It’s unclear.”

Jessica exhaled. “Fantastic.”

Leanna’s voice was sharper.

“But he knows about the ledger. And about the name in it.”

Jessica glanced toward the door.

“Where is he?”

Leanna smirked. “Right behind you.”

Jessica didn’t turn immediately. Instead, she took another sip of wine. Then, casually, she said, “You’ve been following us.”

A deep voice responded. “I was making sure you didn’t get yourselves killed.”

Jessica finally turned. The man was older, late fifties maybe, with sharp features and a face that had seen war. His dark jacket was slightly rumpled, but not from carelessness. From travel. From being on the move.

Jessica knew the type. He wasn’t just a scholar. He was someone who had lived inside the story long enough to know when it was about to turn dangerous. She gestured to the empty chair.

“Sit,” she said.

The man did. Jessica leaned forward, studying him. “Let’s skip the part where we pretend this is casual.”

The man smirked faintly. “I suppose introductions aren’t necessary.”

Jessica arched a brow. “You already know who we are.”

The man nodded. “And you,” Jessica continued, “are about to tell me exactly why you’ve been keeping tabs on this for so long.”

The man exhaled. Then, softly said, “Because I’ve been trying to keep you alive.”

Jessica stilled. Leanna and Olivia exchanged a glance.

Jessica kept her voice steady. “Why?”

The man met her gaze. “It’s about what you’ve already let yourself remember. The others don’t know how much you’ve pulled back. That’s why they want you contained. That’s why I’ve kept you alive.”

Not supposed to. Not expected to. They were all watching to see which pieces slipped through. The danger wasn’t in what she had forgotten. It was in what they thought she still carried.

Jessica’s fingers curled around her glass. “You want to explain that?”

The man exhaled, tapping his knuckles lightly against the table. “This isn’t the first time someone has gone looking for answers.”

Jessica smirked faintly. “Yeah. Pasolini tried.”

The man’s expression darkened. “And he was killed for it.”

Jessica leaned back. “So who are you?”

The man tilted his head slightly. “Someone who kept the past buried because if it surfaces, we all drown with it. Keeping you alive keeps it contained. You fall, and the whole story breaks open, and I go down with it.”

Jessica exhaled. “And now?”

The man studied her for a moment.

Then, softly, “Now, I think it’s time you hear the truth.”

* * *

The man didn’t rush. He took a slow sip of wine and set the glass down carefully. “The ledger wasn’t just a record,” he said. “It was insurance.”

Jessica frowned. “Insurance against what?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Against people like you. Against the chance that one of you might stop forgetting.”

Jessica’s jaw tightened. Too late for that, she thought. She already remembered. Not everything, but enough. Enough to know that her silence was worth more than any truth she could speak aloud.

The man leaned forward, lowering his voice. “They don’t care about the book. They care about what you might say. That’s why I’ve kept you alive. Because when you stay quiet, the rest of us get to keep breathing.”

Jessica’s fingers curled around the stem of her glass. “So that’s it? You protect me so you don’t burn with the rest of them.”

His mouth twitched, the hint of a tired smile. “Call it survival. I’m not noble, Sanchez. I just know what happens when the wrong memories come to light.”

Jessica didn’t feel fear. She felt clarity. This wasn’t about prophecy, destiny, or some cycle outside her control. It was about leverage. About memory. About what she chose to reveal, or bury.

She leaned back, her voice steady. “Then I guess the question isn’t what I remember. It’s how long I can keep them guessing if I can keep it to myself or not”