Two weeks. Fourteen days spent trying to rebuild the crumbling walls of her life. Marina had returned to the office, swallowed sandwiches in front of her screen, done her Sunday jog along the quays. She had imposed an iron discipline on herself, a schedule so packed it was meant to leave no room for introspection. Cardio in the morning. Sorting cupboards in the evening. Anything to occupy the mind and exhaust the body.
Yet, in the hollow of the night, when the silence of her studio became too heavy, the images returned. Chris's gaze, full of an ocean of unspoken things. Léna's distorted face, beautiful and monstrous in her fury. The USB key, entrusted to an anonymous delivery service, which contained the confessions of a broken man. She had listened to it once, only once, before storing i
