The relief of having spoken to her mother was short-lived. Barely two days had passed when Marina's phone vibrated, displaying a name that froze her blood: LÉNA. She let it ring three times, her heart pounding wildly, hoping for a miracle a wrong number, a hang-up. But the miracle didn't come. She answered, her voice strangled.
"Hello?"
Léna's voice on the other end of the line was a steel cable, stretched to breaking point. No greeting, no preamble.
"You're going to come see me. Now."
It wasn't a request. It was an order. An order from a judge or an executioner.
"Léna, I... It's not a good time, I'm—"
"I DON'T CARE!" her sister barked, and Marina pictured her face, distorted by white-hot rage. "You come here, right now. This is not a discussion."
The line went dead. Marina remained
