Page 3 of Johan.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself against the turmoil inside. “Are you sure about it?” I ask, finding the thought of approaching Johan daunting. “Can’t we do it without him?”

Amelia gives me a reassuring smile, her understanding clear. “What’s going on, Hannah?” she probes gently, giving me space to voice my fears.

“It's just… complicated,” I admit, feeling the weight of the entire situation. Amelia frowns in confusion, causing me to simply sigh and say, “Alright, fine, I'll talk to him. I need to do this—not just for us, but for myself too.”

Not wanting to dwell on Johan any longer, I change the subject, clearing my throat. “Now, tell me, where have you been for the past twenty years?” I loop an arm around hers, and we begin to walk slowly towards a nearby bench, the gravel path crunching softly under our feet. The gentle rustle of leaves above us creates a hushed backdrop, matching the solemnity of our discussion.

“It’s a long story, dear.”

Reaching the bench, Amelia gestures for us to sit. As we lower ourselves onto the cool metal, the slight creak of the bench seems to echo the weight of history and secrets we are about to delve deeper into. She settles into her seat with a thoughtful sigh, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap, ready tocontinue our discussion in this quiet corner of the garden, now turned into a confessional of sorts.

3

Johan

I'm back in Cambridge,in the quiet sanctuary of my apartment, the gentle hum of my computer a steady soundtrack as I organize my lecture notes. The evening has wrapped the city in a cool embrace, and the calm before the academic storm of tomorrow's lectures is both welcome and necessary.

It's nearly 10 p.m. when my phone vibrates, breaking the silence with its insistent buzz. The screen lights up with Hannah’s name, and a jolt of something—nervousness, maybe, or anticipation—shoots through me. The message is straightforward but loaded with urgency:I need to talk to you about Amelia. I met her.

My fingers hover over the keyboard. Amelia? The implications of that name, tangled as it is with hidden secrets, tighten my chest. I quickly type back,I can't meet you. It's the safest response, the responsible one, given the delicate threads of my engagement with Astrid.

Hannah’s reply comes swiftly:I know who has her research files.

Sitting back in my chair, I let the reality of her words sink in. Someone who knows about the research files came into my office and stole them, files that could change everything. The importance of this information can’t be underestimated, not just for academic curiosity but for the tangled web of personal and professional stakes involved. I need to see her, to talk to her in person, but how?

As I ponder our options, my mind races through possible meeting spots. Each one presents its own risks, too public or too easily monitored. The usual haunts—places laden with memories of earlier, simpler times together—immediately spring to mind. Yet each is swiftly dismissed under the weight of our current predicament.

The idea of meeting at my apartment, once a haven for long, uninterrupted conversations, now seems fraught with danger. The proximity to my professional and social circles makes it a hotspot for unwanted gossip or accidental encounters that could spiral out of control. Similarly, her dorm, which had always felt like a small sanctuary away from the world, is now out of the question. The risk of being spotted by someone she knows, someone who might question why I'm there at such a late hour, is too high.

Even at my office, where we've shared countless discussions under the guise of academic interest, poses too great a risk now. Its corridors, once a labyrinth where our conversations could remain private, are now potentially lined with ears too keen on the whisper of scandal. Outside, every street corner and every casual stroll through the campus could place us under the watchful gaze of street cameras, capturing footage that could be pieced together by anyone with a vested interest in our movements.

An idea sparks—a secretive, almost forgotten place: the Manuscripts Room at the University’s library. It's perfect,secluded, and I have the key. No one visits that room at midnight. Quickly, I send her the address and instructions, my heart starting to beat faster at the thought of seeing Hannah again.

As I prepare to leave for the library, the anticipation builds. The night is dark, and the streets of Cambridge are quiet, echoing my own mixed emotions. I find myself both eager and apprehensive. It’s been two weeks since I've seen Hannah, and under normal circumstances, the prospect of meeting her would fill me with a familiar warmth. But tonight is different. The shadows that accompany our meeting add weight to my steps. The thrill of reconnecting is tangled with a knot of guilt for dragging her deeper into this complex situation. I'm aware of how much I've missed her and how much I need to see her, yet I'm also acutely conscious of the potential consequences of our reunion. This isn't just a simple catch-up; it's a meeting that could have far-reaching implications for both of us.

At midnight, the library is a cathedral of shadows, the hushed sounds of my footsteps echoing softly as I make my way through. I spot Hannah sitting at one of the tables and pretending to be absorbed in her studies, a facade for any stray onlookers. As I pass her, our eyes meet briefly, a silent conversation in that fleeting glance. She understands. I unlock and enter the Manuscripts Room, leaving the door slightly ajar, and wait in the dim light, my heart pounding with a mix of fear and longing.

Minutes stretch like hours until she slips in, closing the door with a soft click behind her and turning the key a few times to lock us in. Her little fit-and-flare dress swings as she turns to face me. Our eyes meet immediately, and the world narrows down to the space between us. Every part of me yearns to close that gap, to pull her close and kiss her, to feel the softness of herlips against mine. But the bitter taste of my deceit lingers; after everything I've done, after all the lies, how could she possibly want me?

She’s looking at me with an intensity that both reassures and unnerves me. I want to tell her everything—the truth about this engagement charade, about how trapped I feel. But the stakes are too high. If Astrid or her father learn of this meeting, they could expose Hannah, who already carries the burden of having stolen two artifacts—a fact only a few of us know.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I manage to find my voice. “So, what did you find out?” I ask, steering us toward the reason for our clandestine meeting.

Hannah’s face is serious, her voice low as she unfolds the story of her encounter with Amelia. “It’s Ludovic—your future father-in-law. He has the files.”

The words hit me like a physical blow, causing a frown to form. “What? That doesn’t make sense.”

“He kidnapped Amelia 20 years ago when she started to hide key information about her research. She found out he only wanted to find the treasures of the lost city of Ubar for himself,” she tells me, her voice steady despite the weight of her words. “Not for the sake of archaeological discovery and putting them in a museum.”

“It’s a bold statement to make.” I think for an instant, a question forming in the back of my mind. “How would Amelia be so sure of Ludovic’s true intentions?” As I stand here trying to digest the unfolding plot, Hannah notices my confusion deepening. She leans closer, her voice low, as if carrying a secret she's reluctant to share but knows she must.

“Because,” she begins, her eyes searching mine for understanding. “Amelia and Ludovic… they had an affair. That's why she knew so much about him.”

The revelation feels like a punch to the gut. An affair. My mind races, images of Mr. Goschen and Amelia, intertwined in both passion and deceit, painting a stark picture of betrayal. It adds a layer of complexity I hadn't anticipated, making the narrative not just one of greed but also of intimate betrayal.

“So, they were close to each other, emotionally invested,” I murmur, trying to piece together their motivations. “Well, that explains a lot.”

“Yep,” Hannah confirms. “And when she realized his intentions were not about the discovery or the science but purely about the wealth Ubar could bring him, she started to pull away, to hide important findings from him. That's when he took drastic measures.”

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