She had been in Germany for only a day, and she struggled to accept the reality. Surely, she had shown off back there. Putting up a front of a brave woman. Blaberring things she didn't plan to, however, it was a heat of the moment. Her confidence was part of herself, but mostly a reflex.

Now, the scenery suddenly changed for her. She was inside; no longer standing against the cold, but embracing the warmth. The soft hum of the air conditioner contrasted with the song of thunder outside.

Reality began sinking in.

She dropped her belongings on the floor, not quite caring what became of them. For a few moments, she remained immobile trying to digest things.

She had imagined that her journey would be just like any other at the beginning. There might be distance between Germany and home, but both were on the same continent. What could have been different? She had been picturing houses, and streets, all cobblestone, as well as gentle air reminiscent of some French towns. Germany might have been more angled in architecture, the air cooler or hotter but still much familiarity.

And Günther?

She pictured him composed and polite, probably reserved. Resembling the older brothers of her classmates whom she once met. His personality might have a bit of humor mixed with formality. A typical heir to an old-standing family. She imagined he would sit with her over a cup of tea, discussing books, or the histories of their families, then maybe some common interests.

However, it was the farthest thing from her imagination.

Her mouth twisted into a slight smile. She had probably overdone it, had she not? Resolve her face toward the unknown, confidently telling her father: I'm not going very far, you know it. And it won't be long, just a visit, right?

She had also taken too much self-assurance, believing in her mother. According to Inès, Juliette was good at reading people. And in most cases, it was true. But tonight, it didn't help much.

Nothing—nothing—could have prepared her for meeting Günther Van Hausen inside that tempest.

Her memory replayed the scene from the night: a sharp look and unpredictable energy, the sheer authority he exuded even as the storm roared around them. Her ability this time merely helped her not to be afraid. Not of him, at least.

Juliette let out a small laugh, though humorless, and rubbed at her wet hair awkwardly. "Goodness," she murmured to herself. "What did I even say to him?

After that mysterious call, she realized she hadn't allowed herself time to think clearly and simply reacted. And now, here she stood at the door of her hotel room, listening to echoes of that memory from their encounter. But it would not be much help by dwelling over in there, still damp and tousled.

"Guess what's done is done..." she said in a way to reassure herself that what was most important was to be clear-headed. A bath would help to scrub the evening clean, mentally and physically.

Wishing to wash it all away, she took off her shoes and headed inside. Water flowed in the little space, filling a bathtub, steam curling like the embrace of a comforting hand around her. Lavender bath salts dissolved into warm water. While waiting for the tub to be filled, Juliette slipped out of her clothing, peeling off the damp pieces leftover from the storm. She had left it all on the floor. However, her thoughts weren't going away from fractured recollections of Günther. A strange encounter of a complete absence of fear in his presence.

She stepped into the bath water, searingly hot against the chill of her skin at first but quickly soothing. Juliette lowered herself into the water, the tension in her shoulders beginning to melt away as the heat enveloped her. She leaned back, head resting on the rim of the tub, and closed her eyes.

The lavender scent was blooming from the bath; her thoughts did not come to rest. Those seemingly lifeless people. Not that she knew what had happened, she had not such a postcognition power or something similar. But it should be enough to ignite fear, at least doubt inside people.

But what had she been thinking? Or, more importantly, why hadn't she felt fear?

Juliette opened her eyes, staring up at the ceiling through the haze of steam.

I wasn't scared of him, though I should have been, shouldn't I?

Rather, she had felt something else entirely. Perhaps it was fascination. A pull she simply could not name yet.

What truly had confounded her was that she did not fear him. Though deep down, she knew the reason. Her gut had whispered it to her—that he wouldn’t hurt her. Not that night.

She sighed deeply as she sunk lower into the water so that heat cocooned her up to now. She would focus on this warmth, the lavender, the quiet of the moment. Tomorrow might bring other things, and whatever they are, she would meet them with her usual poise.

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Or at least that was her hope.

Wait, tomorrow?

Did she still wish to go through with this arrangement? She tilted her head against the rim of the tub. In sanity, she would be in a hurry to search for the earliest flight back to France. She would be packing her belongings and telling her parents that the entire plan was a great mistake.

That was the voice of her brain; the rational, practical part of her. But her heart was saying the contrary.

It didn't want to give up just yet. Maybe it was stubbornness, or maybe it was the unwillingness to waste her father's efforts in arranging this meeting. He had worked long, and spoken so proudly of the opportunity, and she couldn’t bring herself to ruin all of that.

Truthfully, it was much more than just him. Juliette, at her very depths, wanted to witness the unfolding events of this peculiar setup.

The ring of her phone awoke her from her spiraling thoughts. Water splashed faintly as she got up from the tub, wrapping herself in a towel hastily to reach for the source of the sound. Glancing at the name displayed on her phone, it was not surprising, it showed her parents.

Of course, she thought with a soft chuckle, it had to be them.

Juliette swiped to answer, holding the phone to her ear and tucking that towel in closer to her. "Allo, Papa?"

"Jules," said her father, deep and steady yet carrying the slight edge, which she had come to recognize as worry. He was not a man to speak words, especially not emotional ones. The tone was enough.

"Allo, Papa," was her reply, warmly, though it might not hide the amused smile at her lips decently enough. "I was just about to call you."

"Hm," he muttered, almost as if glancing at her through the phone for relief. "Your mother has been worrying."

Juliette giggled softly, stepping into the bedroom as she continued to dry her hair. "Maman? You sure it wasn't you, Papa?"

"Well—" Noël cleared his throat, a usual sign of him caught on guard. He paused for a while. "Oh, yes. Jules, how is the flight?"

He surely changed the topic. Juliette shook her head with a faint smile. This was all too familiar. His failing attempt to hide it was merely a subtle way to show his care without saying it outright. At that moment, the steady sound of her father, of home, gave her a sense of stability. It reminded her that: no matter what, she always had a home to go to if things went south.

So I can continue this. It was a thought that warmed her, even as the room cooled.

"Fine, it's usual. I managed to sleep on the plane too," Juliette explained.

"That's good," he said, and the relief in his voice. "Then you're not too tired?"

"Nah." That was how the lie slipped. Juliette's gaze went toward her reflection in the mirror. She still had messy hair, and her cheeks bore a slight flush from that hot bath, a while ago she had just gone home from a storm, but her tone hid them. "Not too tired."

"Hm..." A faint hum on the opposite side of the line informed her that he was not convinced, though. Maybe she wasn't as good as she thought in hiding it. "And the hotel? Is it... comfortable?"

"Yes, Papa," Juliette said with an assuring smile even though he couldn't see her. "It's beautiful. The room's warm, and I have a view of the city. You'd approve."

"I see," he said quieter now. A stroke of silence passed before he added, "I think you should take a rest now. Call us again tomorrow."

"Of course," she promised, it wasn't the big deal, more of a thing she always did. "I'll call you tomorrow morning before I leave."

"Good," Noël spoke after some hesitation, probably he didn't want to stop talking just yet. "Get some sleep, Jules. You need it."

"I will," she answered softly. "Goodnight, Papa. Tell Maman I love her. I love you too."

Noël cleared his throat once again, carefully putting in a bit of emotion. "I will," he said, his tone was gentle, and the affection simply peeked through his defense. "Goodnight, ma chérie."

Juliette got off the phone feeling slightly homesick. But the silence hadn't been her companion for long. Her phone buzzed again, this time a video call from Giselle.

Juliette picked it up, already greeted by the familiar face of her friend. "Alright, spill. How's the stranger?"

Up close, Juliette was examining Giselle's face as she spoke, trying to read the lines of her apparent calmness. Juliette had thought the mysterious call along with her way home was given by Giselle. Maybe Giselle had done that orchestration; her silent care.

"Germany is fine," Juliette drifted on a faint smile. "But let's stop pretending, shall we?"

"Pretending?" The question in Giselle's voice was still confused. Her expression on the screen was even showing frowns. "What are you talking about?"

"You know everything, don't you? About who's behind that call," Juliette clarified, her tone steady but with a faint thread of hilarity. "It wasn't some random person, was it?"

"Jules, what are you saying?" Giselle raised her voice a bit now.

"It was you, wasn't it?" Juliette said, her voice becoming softer as she leaned forward, still thinking that it was her best friend all along. "The cab and the call. They were timed so perfectly. You were watching me."

"Juliette, no," Giselle said firmly. "I wasn't behind that call. I swear. I haven't had contact with anyone in Germany except for you. Why should I make something like that up? Or are you teasing me?"

For a moment, Juliette stared at her, contemplating. She had wanted it to be Giselle; no, she had believed her friend looking out for her. The truth in Giselle's words, however, was indisputable.

"Gigi, be honest with me for once, this once," she said. "Wasn't it you?"

"Jules, I swear to you, it wasn't me. I had no idea what you were walking into. I had no hand in any of this."

Juliette drew her brows together. It sunk in completely now. One of the sources of the bravery was believing that Giselle had set everything into it, but now... it crumbled. "But how could they know? How could they know exactly when, where, and what I would do? Like even the phone number."

Giselle's tone softened, full of earnestness. "I don't know, Jules. I truly don't. But if I had known, I swear to you, I would have warned you. Have you tried calling the person back?"

Juliette slowly shook her head; frustration was clearly in her voice. "Yeah, but it's not active anymore."

Calmly but with palpable concern, Giselle said, "You know what, just talk me through everything. From the start."