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He should have expected the board to place a hold on the transaction beforehand. He had, in a way, anticipated it. But he had hoped for more time. At least enough time to prepare a proper explanation, or get hold of his savings and return the money before it caught the accountants’ attention.

Shaking his head, he let out a low chuckle, imagining what his father would have thought of his mistakes. Rookie ones, at that. He had disappointed his father in more ways than he cared to count, but, for reasons he couldn’t explain, the only disappointments that still stung were the ones tied to the business.

Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on the desk and pressed his palms against his eyes, trying in vain to dull the pounding headache that had been building all day.

“I knew I’d find you here,” a voice cut through the silence.

Agdar raised his head, letting his hands drop with a loud thud on the desk, and noticed Mattias standing by the door.

The man, now in his sixties, had once been one of his father’s most trusted advisers despite being considerably younger than the rest of his consultants back then. Sensible and sharp, Mattias had a deep understanding of both business and politics, paired with a nonchalant attitude that made even the gravest matters feel less suffocating.

The gray in his beard and the weathered lines on his face made him look sterner than he was, though his eyes still carried the same focus Agdar had always admired. Whether he was speaking to businessmen or plant workers, the man had a natural talent. Always getting his point across with simplicity. Having always valued that, Agdar hadn’t hesitated to keep him around after Runeard’s passing. He was still grateful that Mattias had stayed with the company through the hardest times, before their technological breakthroughs made their products market leaders. Agdar truly considered Mattias his right hand.

“I could tell from your call that the urgent meeting was more serious than I’d imagined,” Mattias continued, stepping into the office and pulling back a chair to sit on the other side of the desk. “Things were calm when we left yesterday morning. Care to tell me what we’ve managed to do in the last twenty-four hours?”

Agdar hesitated, glancing down at the crumpled notes scattered on his desk. Incoherent words and half-formed sentences that he tried to put together in an attempt to explain his situation. None of it was good enough to convince the board why he needed the money so desperately without exposing things he wasn’t ready to reveal.

“Agdar?” Mattias tilted his head, searching for his eyes. “I haven’t seen you this worried since the last recession. What’s going on?”

“I need to tell you something,” Agdar said suddenly, surprising even himself. He wasn’t sure how much he wanted to share, or how much he could risk saying aloud. But if there was one person whose advice he trusted, it was Mattias. He only hoped the man wouldn’t be too relentless in his judgment.

Mattias straightened slightly, shifting into the posture he usually reserved for tense board meetings. “Sounds serious.”

Agdar exhaled slowly, hesitating for a moment longer before he finally admitted, “I have another daughter.”

Mattias blinked. “You mean, on the way?” He paused, reading Agdar’s expression. “Are congratulations in order?”

“No. It’s—” Agdar shook his head. “I have another daughter,” he repeated, slower this time. “She’s older than Anna.”

Mattias leaned back, the old wood chair creaking under his weight. “Older? I’ve never heard of her.”

“No one has.” Agdar’s gaze dropped to the mess of notes again. Saying it aloud felt heavier now, as though the full confession had been placed on the table between them. “She was born before Iduna and I got married. We left her at an orphanage over twenty years ago. We told ourselves she’d have a better life with another family.”

Mattias’ brows lifted, though he didn’t speak at first. When the initial shock faded, he nodded slowly. “What about her mother?” he asked, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“Iduna’s the mother,” Agdar clarified, sharper than he intended. He’d assumed it was obvious. He hadn’t considered the possibility of people thinking there had been another woman before his wife until now, and he wondered if the board would leap to the same conclusion.

Mattias gave another slow nod, letting the information sink in. “How old is she?”

“Twenty-four.”

Mattias rubbed his goatee, deep in thought. The silence stretched uncomfortably, long enough to make Agdar shift in his seat, but he held back, waiting for his reaction.

“So,” Mattias said finally, meeting his gaze, “let me get this straight. You and Iduna had a daughter out of wedlock. You gave her up for adoption…”

“Yes.”

“Four years later, you had Anna.”

Agdar closed his eyes, bracing against the weight of his calm, measured tone. He could hear the unspoken judgment beneath it. “Yes,” he said quietly.

“Did Runeard know?”

“Yes,” Agdar replied, having expected the question. “We kept the pregnancy, as well as her birth, a secret for as long as we could. My father was never supportive of my relationship with Iduna, as you know. But I eventually needed to—”

Mattias leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, hands clasped together. “Why are you sharing this information with me now?” he interrupted. “After all these years?”

Agdar hesitated, thrown off by his lack of interest in the backstory or his father’s reaction to the news. Though, thinking about it, he shouldn’t have been surprised. Mattias rarely voiced opinions about Runeard and preferred to focus on solutions.

“I think you know the reason…”

“You need to let the board know there’s another successor. Is that it?” He guessed, knowing the board would be involved.

“Not entirely, but I fear that’s what they’ll think this is about.”

Mattias’ gaze sharpened. “I certainly thought it was strange for you to request a board meeting first thing Monday morning. For a moment, I assumed it had something to do with the unusual payments we managed to stop— that maybe someone was trying to use company funds in your name.”

“It’s all related.”

“Be clearer, Agdar.”

Agdar’s throat tightened. “Elsa’s in the hospital. She’s very ill, needing intensive care. She’s got a long recovery ahead of her.”

“I’m assuming Elsa’s your eldest daughter,” Mattias said, waiting for a nod before continuing. “Were you trying to pay for her treatment with company funds?”

Agdar avoided his gaze. “Yes.”

Mattias drew a slow breath, rubbing his hand over his chin again. “You should’ve told me this weeks ago.”

“I know.”

“The board won’t like this.”

“I need your help breaking the news and persuading them to approve these extraordinary transfers.”

Mattias leaned back, weighing his words carefully. “I’ll be honest with you, Agdar. The first thing they’ll want to know is if you’re paying for this woman’s silence.”

Agdar froze, looking back at him. “What do you mean?”

“Is she really Iduna’s?” Mattias asked evenly. “Or are you hoping I don’t ask too many questions about your past and just take your word for it. It’s hard to believe Iduna willingly abandoned her own daughter.”

Agdar’s jaw tightened.

“And,” Mattias continued, “is she actually sick or is this a cover?”

“I’m not lying to you, Mattias,” Agdar snapped, anger rising in his voice. “She is our daughter. She’s sick. And I’m not buying— I’m not buying her silence.”

Mattias studied him for a moment, then walked to the small bar in the corner. Without asking, he poured two glasses of whisky, handing one to Agdar before grabbing his own.

“So you are buying someone’s silence,” he said quietly.

Agdar inhaled sharply, feeling cornered. He hated how careless he’d been with his words. It was proof of just how much he needed Mattias’ help.

Mattias didn’t press, respecting the boundaries Agdar wasn’t ready to cross. His silence was answer enough. “All right,” he said finally, taking a slow sip. “What exactly do you need from me?”

Agdar gripped the glass tightly, staring into the amber liquid before answering. “Help me convince them this isn’t about hiding a mistake. It’s about helping someone who needs it.”

Mattias nodded slightly, lowering himself back into the chair. “If you don’t mind me asking… Why now, Agdar? After all these years.”

Agdar’s thumb traced the rim of the glass. “We found her recently. Or rather, she walked back into our lives by chance. We’ve been trying to fix our past mistakes ever since.”

“Will paying for her treatment erase those mistakes?”

“Of course not,” replied Agdar, dropping his gaze.

“Is there another way she can get the care she needs?”

“Look, Mattias, she’s seriously sick,” Agdar snapped. “I won’t let—”

“I’m not suggesting you abandon her again,” Mattias interrupted, his tone firm. “I’m asking the same questions the board will. They’ll want to know exactly who the company is funding, and why. As is, your story won’t satisfy them. You and Iduna abandoned a child, only to marry and have Anna three years later. Twenty years go by, and now, suddenly, she’s back and needs money.” Mattias sighed tiredly. “You’ve put yourself in a corner, Agdar.”

“I know. I know,” he repeated, frustration finally taking over. “But no one else can help her. It’s more than her adoptive family can afford, and I won’t let them go into debt when I have the means to help.”

“Why isn’t insurance handling this?”

“It’s complicated.”

Mattias studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “You have my word, I'll do everything I can to convince them. But I need everything — dates, amounts, paperwork, all of it.”

“You have it,” Agdar said quickly.

“Good. Once we have the numbers, we’ll work on your speech. Polish it so it paints you in a better light.”

Agdar immediately began pulling documents from his briefcase, spreading them across the desk. When he glanced up again, he noticed Mattias watching him, a quiet sadness in his eyes.

“What?” Agdar asked softly.

A small smile drew on his lips. “How’s the girl? Is she stable?”

Agdar hesitated. “I suppose. I haven’t seen her yet. She’s— It’s complicated.”

Mattias held his gaze a moment longer, then gave a short nod. “Let’s start with one step at a time. You can tell me about the rest when you’re ready.”

Agdar sank into the chair, relief and dread washing over him at once.

---

The wall-tall windows flooded the table with morning light, though still the conference room felt colder and darker than expected. In front of Agdar, sharp expressions waited for him.

The board was seated around the long oak table, every member watching him, silent, expectant, as if compelling him to explain why they’d all been called. A neat stack of papers and documentation rested untouched to his side, close to where Mattias was sitting. The man remained with his arms folded, silent, respecting rank, but ready to step in if needed.

Knowing there was no point delaying the inevitable, Agdar cleared his throat.

“Before we begin, let me be clear, this is an extraordinary meeting,” he said. “While nothing substantial has changed within the company since our last session, I need to address the matter of the unusual bank transfers, as I know several of you have expressed concerns.”

That earned a few nods around the table. Douglas Jørgensen, one of the older members, cleared his throat as he tapped his pen lightly against his notepad. A small, impatient gesture Agdar was familiar with.

Agdar went on, steady but careful. “The transfers in question were authorized by me, under an internal discretionary fund.”

“For personal use?” Johan Rosenberg, seated on the opposite side of the table, asked. His tone was neutral, almost casual, but Agdar knew better. It was a measured question, one meant for him to start being more clear.

“Yes,” Agdar admitted. “The funds were for medical care for—” He paused, clearing his throat again, hating the nerves that made his voice falter. “For my daughter. She’s currently in hospital and will need treatment for the foreseeable future.”

A low murmur broke around the table. Several members exchanged glances, brows drawn in confusion.

“Anna?” asked Nora Solberg, the only woman on the board and a longtime family acquaintance. Her concern was genuine. “Is she alright? What happened?”

“Anna’s fine.” Agdar reassured the members, “given the circumstances,” he added softly. “But it’s not her I’m talking about.”

Nora frowned. “Then who?”

Agdar’s mouth opened, then closed again. The words refused to come, and he couldn’t remember what Mattias had suggested he said.

Mattias shifted beside him, placing his hands on the table and straightening back.

“With your permission,” he said, his calm voice cutting through the tension. At Agdar’s brief nod, he addressed the room. “Agdar has another daughter. Her name is Elsa Bjorgman. She’s twenty-four and is currently receiving sepsis treatment at Vitalis Health Center.”

He then searched through the documents, pulling out the medical record that contained only the essential information. Without hesitation, he slid it across the table for the rest of the members to see.

A thick silence settled over the room. Every member’s gaze moved from Mattias to the paperwork before them, then, finally, to Agdar.

Agdar met their eyes one by one, steadying himself. There was no turning back now.

“My wife and I had Elsa before we were married,” he began. “We—” He cleared his voice again. “We left her in the care of an institution we trusted and didn’t maintain contact. That was primarily my decision… and my mistake. By the time we acknowledged what we’d done, she’d been adopted, and we were denied any possibility of finding her.”

He drew a slow breath, pushing through the weight in his chest. “Less than a year ago, she came back into our lives. Since then, we’ve been doing our best to rebuild a relationship with her.”

Saying the words aloud was unexpectedly grounding. It forced him to own them and finally step into the role he should have claimed years ago.

There was a long pause for a moment. Then John Eriksen, one of the younger members, who had recently taken his late father’s seat, broke the silence.

“You’re saying,” he began slowly, “that the company has been funding medical care for a woman no one here has ever met. Someone who isn’t listed in any family documentation or contingency plans?”

“She is my daughter,” Agdar replied. His tone was guarded, not liking Eriksen’s implication.

“She might be,” Eriksen countered evenly, “but for the company, and the investors, she isn’t. She doesn’t exist.”

Before Agdar could respond, Jørgensen cut in, his deeper voice grounding the discussion before an argument could erupt. “Mattias, you mentioned sepsis, did you not? What’s wrong with her? Is this a preexisting illness or…?”

Mattias, clearly lost for words, looked at Agdar who answered in a heartbeat. “Complications arose after an accident. Nothing more. Her doctor is optimistic she’ll recover if the treatment continues.” He scanned the room, trying to gather their reactions. “All the more reason to consider allowing me this exception.”

The board fell quiet, analyzing his words, weighing their implications.

Finally, Kornall Dahl, the most pragmatic voice in the board, leaned forward. “And how long,” he asked slowly, “did you plan to keep her existence from us? Why not introduce her formally? If she were acknowledged as part of the family, her treatment would’ve been covered by the insurance, would it not?”

“I originally had no intention of involving the company in personal affairs," Agdar said carefully. “Especially since Elsa is still adjusting to the idea of having met her biological parents. You may understand this isn’t easy for her.” He hesitated, then added, “But this situation escalated quickly. I had to act. I used internal funds because I couldn’t secure access to my own assets fast enough. I take full responsibility for that decision, and I intend to repay the company the moment I’m in a position to do so.”

Taking the opportunity to draw the attention back to what was needed, Mattias stepped in. “Funding this medical care will delay a few of our latest projects. But it’s nothing we haven’t done in the past. What matters now is how we proceed. The board can choose to formalize the medical support under humanitarian sponsorship and it might not necessarily attract investors’ scrutiny.”

Eriksen leaned forward sharply. “What happens after? Shall she be regarded as your successor?”

Agdar frowned, but Mattias was the first to respond. “That’s not what we’re discussing.”

Eriksen continued, ignoring him, “I’m sure I’m not the only one wondering what will happen after this, am I?” He asked, looking around at his peers. “She could have a say in the company. Investors will wonder what happens now. They trust Anna’s reliability. This woman’s however—”

“Elsa.” Agdar corrected, his eyes narrowing. 

“Right. Elsa.” Eriksen corrected himself tiredly. “She could become a problem later on. In your absence, she could demand her share. The company can’t cover that without selling part of the plant or the more advanced projects.”

“Anna is still the designated successor,” Agdar said firmly. “Elsa has no interest in the business.”

“That’s what you want to believe,” Eriksen shot back. “You’re looking at this through rose-tinted glasses. If she chooses to claim her rights, we have to comply. The stock market will react to this sooner or later.”

“I agree with Eriksen,” Jørgensen said, his tone calmer but no less serious. “This changes how the company’s perceived. Once employees hear about this, it’ll spread. The values we’ve promoted for years will come under scrutiny one way or another.”

“Then we manage it,” Mattias said with conviction. “We can’t pretend she doesn’t exist because it’s inconvenient. If we respect Agdar’s private life and control how the information circulates, it doesn’t have to become public knowledge. And if it does, we’ll frame it for what it is: the company supporting someone in need. That’s the narrative we hold onto.”

“The press might be interested in knowing the full story if it becomes public knowledge.” Nora commented, pointing out the risks.

Agdar inhaled deeply. “Then I’ll face it. This company was built on responsibility and family values.”

Nora leaned back slowly, studying him, then gave a small nod. “Let us see the figures,” she said finally, “as well as the projects that would have to be postponed. We’ll take a full board vote before noon.”

Agdar nodded once, placing a steady hand over the stack of documents beside him. “Here’s everything you need to review.”

---

The conference room had mostly emptied, but the air around Agdar still felt heavy. The tension remained, like smoke that refused to clear. There were low hums of lingering comments as the last members of the board picked up their things and made their way out.

Agdar remained seated at the head of the table, shoulders slumped against the leather chair, the transcript of the meeting lying open before him. Selma, his secretary, had left it there before heading out to start preparing some necessary paperwork after the meeting. He had read it twice already, yet his eyes kept wandering back to the same few sentences, as though repeating them would somehow make them easier to carry.

The board had agreed to cover Elsa’s treatment. Some members had been reluctant, but none had dared to vote against it in the end. They all accepted the same truth: denying a young woman medical care was inexcusable.

Still, their approval came at a cost. Two conditions, both of which Agdar had agreed to, though one unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

The first was transparency. It sounded simple enough in their words — fair even. But it was a lot more difficult to put into practice than they imagined. Their request was for Elsa to now be formally acknowledged as a member of the founding family on paper. They could guarantee for the insurance to cover any future medical needs as long as the documentation was in order. It was logical and sensible. And yet, Agdar’s chest tightened as he thought of what it’d mean for Elsa. Would she understand the necessity or would she see it as a deceiving way to force her back into the family?

The second condition was far worse. Disengagement. The word alone hit him like a punch to the gut. He knew exactly what it meant. Sooner or later, Elsa would have to sign a carefully worded agreement. They’d ask her to give up any right to the business, her name neatly erased from succession and ownership records, despite the previous acknowledgement of her existence.

The more he read those words, the sicker he felt. He had agreed to convince her to sign it. The thought made his hand clench against the armrest until his knuckles turned white. In other words, he had agreed to disown her.

The only two people who had stayed behind didn’t speak. They simply watched him as he stared down at the transcript, letting the silence sit until Agdar finally lowered the pages and met their eyes.

Nora and Mattias had known his family longer than most. Nora, always composed, had returned to the company after Runeard’s death and had since become one of Agdar’s closest confidants on the board. Mattias, steady and loyal in ways Agdar didn’t deserve. They had both stayed to keep him company, knowing he wasn’t taking it well.

Nora slid a chair closer, resting her elbows on the polished table, while Mattias leaned against the tall window, arms crossed.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” Nora said softly. “The vote went your way.”

“Barely,” he murmured, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm on the armsrest.

“Still,” Mattias added, his voice steady, “a win is a win. Your daughter will receive the care she needs.”

They let the words settle for a moment before Nora leaned forward, folding her arms on the table.

“I’ve known you a long time, Agdar. I knew your father, too.” Her tone shifted, her words measured. “This is how Runeard would’ve handled things.”

Agdar’s lips tightened. “I know, but it doesn’t make it right.”

“It wasn’t a compliment,” Nora said, sternly. “This is the kind of decision he would have made. Not you.”

“I had to meet them halfway,” Agdar replied, his voice low, defensive despite himself. “I need to have everything in order by tomorrow.”

“You said Elsa wants nothing to do with the company,” Mattias said carefully. “If that’s true, then disengagement might not be as bad as it looks. Or is that just what you’re hoping for?”

Agdar shook his head, rubbing his forehead. “She doesn’t know the first thing about stocks or boardrooms… I don’t think she wants this. She wants nothing to do with me.”

Nora studied him for a long moment before asking, more gently, “So you think she’ll sign?”

He hesitated, then exhaled. “She’ll sign if it means I stay out of her life.” The words tasted bitter. “But this—” He pushed the transcript away from him. “This was the only thing I could actually give her. I didn’t give her my name. I didn’t give her the life she deserved. And now I’m stripping her of her birthright?” He paused, his throat tightening. “Anna and Iduna will never forgive me.”

Nora and Mattias exchanged a pained look, but neither spoke. Business advice had always come easily to them; family matters, on the other hand, were different.

Mattias cleared his throat softly. Desperate to shift the focus to something other than Agdar’s past mistakes, he asked, “What’s she like?”

Agdar blinked at the unexpected question and leaned back in his chair, thinking about the question. “She’s withdrawn,” he finally said. “Quiet. She doesn’t trust easily. But she isn’t unkind. Just… guarded.” His brow furrowed, his voice softening. “She’s a good person. Kinder than she has any reason to be, after everything she’s been through.” He swallowed hard. “I can’t believe I keep making things worse for her.”

“She’s still young,” Nora said gently. “She’s survived this far without you, Agdar. She’ll manage. You’re helping her now — the only way you can.”

Agdar gave a small nod, though it looked more like resignation than agreement.

Mattias pushed himself off the wall and slipped his suit coat back on. “For what it’s worth,” he said, choosing to stay with the glass half full, “I’m glad the vote passed. I wouldn’t have slept tonight knowing we’d turned our backs on her.”

Agdar nodded and rose from his seat, walking them both to the door.

“If she’s anything like what you’ve described,” Nora said as she stepped out, “I hope we meet her someday.”

He watched them go, the silence returning as soon as the door clicked shut behind them.

Agdar stood there for a moment, motionless, before his gaze fell back to the papers scattered on the table. With a tired sigh, he sat down again, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He buried his face in his hands, trying to hide the shame that was threatening to consume him.

Ever since Anna had first come to him, explaining what the Bjorgmans needed at the hospital, he’d felt — for the first time in years — that he was doing something right. Signing those authorizations, sending those funds… Each action felt like stitching together a small piece of the past, helping put together what he had once torn apart. But now, all he could think about was that it wasn’t only the past he had taken from her, it was her future as well.

Every act of help came attached to a cost. A cost Elsa didn’t even know she was paying.

That truth broke something in him. His eyes brimmed with tears and, this time, he didn’t hold them back. He sat there, silent and trembling, haunted by the realization that he was becoming a mirror of his father. And he despised it.

He hoped that someday, somehow, he’d make it alright.

---

A different chapter, but one I was eager to write.

I had planned just one scene from Agdar’s POV, but I ended up liking the idea of showing the whole meeting. I hope I haven’t bored you with so much business stuff. I think it was worth showing what this domino effect is causing.

Also, I’ve been reviewing my notes and realized I might tweak a few things. I’ll finish Søsken as planned, but so many new plot ideas came up during this story that I’m already considering a sequel. What I’m trying to say is, sorry in advance! LOL

I hope you enjoy this chapter. Let me know what you think.

I’ll try my best to get up to date with my replies and comments. I apologise to all of you who have left so many lovely reviews and I haven’t replied yet. I read every single one of them and I love them! I’ll get back to you, I promise.

Read you all soon!

----

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This time, it felt different. Her body had begun to relax somewhat, but every so often, her fingers tensed against his, her brows twitched and her breath hitched. When she opened her eyes, frustrated with herself, she didn’t pull away or ask him to leave. But they didn’t have the strength to say much else. He stayed by her side, watching her face twitch in pain every so often.

He wished he could take it all away. The pain. The heartache. Even the scars he was still pretending not to see. He wondered if she would ever confide in him about her past. It felt unlikely, given how much it clearly hurt her. Until then, he supposed it was best to keep pretending he only knew what she let him see.

When her breathing finally evened out, and he was certain she’d drifted off to sleep, Marshall drew in a careful breath. Staring at her face one last time, he slowly pulled his hand free and moved soundlessly toward the door, closing it gently behind him with a soft click.

The hallway was mostly dark and empty, and for that he was thankful. Pressing his back against the cool wall outside Elsa’s room, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes, taking a moment to get himself together. He needed just one minute to regain his footing. But the familiar fire was already rising in his chest. That explosive, volatile part of himself that showed up when things felt out of his control. He was furious. At the people who had hurt her in her past. At himself for not doing more; for not helping her sooner. At Nielsen. At her family. At the whole damn situation.

He hated this part of himself, the one that threatened to take over without warning.

He brought a hand to his face, palm pressed against his mouth as if he could muffle the fury and violence that threatened to burst out. He stood still until the pounding in his chest dulled to something bearable.

The sound of footsteps around the corner pulled him back to reality and he straightened up immediately. Pushing himself off the wall, he pretended he had things under control.

“Marshall?” A familiar voice called his name. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping the loud voice hadn’t woken Elsa. The last thing he needed was for her to come to her senses while she was still alone.

He turned and saw Ingrid approaching, a clipboard tucked under one arm, one hand stuffed in her pocket.

“Well, I didn’t expect to find you here.” Her tone was still tinged with mischief, but there was a hesitation beneath it, like she wanted to be taken seriously this time. “You weren’t here when I made my round in the evening. Thought you might have taken Saturday night off.”

He didn’t reply. He wasn’t in the mood for conversation, especially not one that implied he should be anywhere else. Even his mother had tried to convince him to take the night off—gently, almost apologetically, as if she knew he’d refuse. Whatever Ingrid had to say didn’t worry him in the least.

Ingrid stepped closer, her brow furrowing slightly as she got a better look at his face. Her tone softened. “Are you alright?”

Marshall clenched his jaw and looked away. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Ingrid replied without missing a beat. “You still lie like an eighteen-year-old.”

“Ingrid.” His voice was tight, a clear warning not to push past his limits.

She studied him for a moment, then let the teasing tone slip away. “I wasn’t trying to poke the bear,” she said quietly. “It’s just— I don’t like seeing you like this. Your girl will pull through; she’ll be okay.

“I’m not here for small talk,” he muttered.

“I know.” She glanced over her shoulder towards the nurse station. “I’ll be around if you need anything.”

When he didn’t reply, she gave him one last look and walked away.

Marshall waited till she was gone to lean back against the wall and let his head fall back with a dull thump. He stood there, breathing through the simmering rage, counting backward from ten. Again and again.

The plan was to go back into Elsa’s room once he had calmed down. He was more useful by her side than playing his paranoid game, but the chance was perfect. Ingrid had practically invited him to find her after all.

He cast one last glance at Elsa’s door and silently begged for her to stay asleep, then made his way to the nurse station.

Ingrid sat alone at the small desk, cluttered with papers and an open patient chart. She seemed lost in thought, her pen tapping lightly against a sheet she’d been writing on earlier. It took her a moment to notice him, and when she did, she turned his way with a soft smile—like she’d been waiting for him.

“Something wrong?” she asked, casually, though he caught the flicker of worry behind her eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Marshall asked, voice low in case another nurse showed up.

She blinked, then turned back to her chart. “Same thing I’ve always done in clinics and hospitals. I work here.”

“No,” he snapped, taking a step forward. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

She sighed and set the pen down. “I think you’re misinterpreting something.”

“You weren’t assigned to her,” he pressed. “Nielsen gave me a list. Your name wasn’t on it.”

“I’m filling in,” she replied, flatly. “One of the night nurses couldn’t make it. They asked me to cover.”

“Who?” he pressed.

She hesitated, just for a breath, but he saw it. “Ingrid. Who are you covering for?”

“Does it matter?” she deflected. “You’re acting like I’m some stranger. I work here, Marsh.”

“What nurse?” he demanded again. “Give me a name.”

Ingrid flipped through the folder, deliberately avoiding his eyes. “I’ve got things to do. Either tell me what you need, or let me work.”

“Stop dodging the question,” he said, his voice rising with frustration. “Either tell me who you’re filling in for or why you’re really here.”

With a resigned breath, Ingrid closed the folder. “The official line is that Frida called in sick.”

He narrowed his eyes. “And the unofficial?”

She hesitated for a moment. “She requested to be taken off your girl’s case,” she said more quietly. “She’s asked multiple times. Each one was denied.”

Ingrid offered a small, careful smile, meant to say more than she was actually saying. “I’m not here to cause harm, Marshall.”

Not knowing what to think anymore, Marshall took a step back. He didn’t trust himself to keep the conversation going without snapping. “I need to talk to Nielsen,” he muttered, already turning towards the door.

“You’re letting it control you again,” Ingrid said behind him before he could leave.

Marshall froze mid-step. Then, slowly, he turned to face her. “That’s low.”

“And doubting me isn’t?” she said, folding her arms. “Look at yourself. You’re a mess, dear.”

“I’m not—” He stopped himself, jaw clenched. He shook his head, as if trying to push the rising fire back down. “You don’t get to throw that in my face.”

“I’ve seen you throw your life away before. Don’t let your temper ruin what you have now.”

The words struck deep. He looked at her for a long, heavy moment, as shame crawled up and settled beside the anger. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and walked off.

Back in Elsa’s room, Marshall let out a relieved sigh when he saw she hadn’t stirred. She was still curled slightly to the side, her face more peaceful than it had been all night. He moved closer, careful not to wake her, and sat back down in the chair. Watching her breathe calmed something inside him, helping him bury the last of the fury that had nearly consumed him. He could feel his body aching, stiff from tension and exhaustion.

Outside, the first light of morning spilled through the blinds, casting pale lines across the room. 

---

The hallway outside Elsa’s room was quiet when Anna arrived. She walked softly, careful not to disturb the other patients. She hadn’t seen many people in this part of the ward over the past few days. She supposed Elsa had been deliberately placed in the farthest room—a logical precaution, considering her powers could drop the temperature in an instant.

She hadn’t planned to come so early. Kristoff had shown up at her parents’ house, waking her and Idunn. For a moment, she’d felt her world collapse. But before she could imagine the worst, he explained something about a meeting. It seemed to be important enough that both her in-laws were needed, and that Gerda wouldn’t be able to watch over Elsa that morning. He hadn’t offered many details, but he didn’t have to. It was enough to know that someone had to be there, and Marshall might need rest, breakfast, or simply a break from sitting at her sister’s bedside all night.

Anna gently pushed open the door and peeked inside, hoping not to wake Elsa if she’d finally managed some sleep. She knew how rare it was for her to rest more than a few hours at a time.

The room was still dim, lit only by the soft gray light filtering through the window. Elsa lay curled under the blanket, her face pale, dark circles beneath her eyes, but peaceful, for once. Marshall sat beside her, hunched forward in the chair, his forearm resting on the edge of the mattress. His head was lowered, turned away from the door, resting on his arm. His fingers were tracing lazy, almost thoughtless strokes across the back of Elsa’s hand.

Anna paused at the door, surprised to catch him unaware of his surroundings for once. Part of her wanted to leave and give him a little more time, but knew she’d regret not taking advantage of the rare tender scene unfolding in front of her.

She stepped inside, quietly closing the door behind her. Mischief drew on her face before she spoke. “Should I come back later, or…?”

Marshall flinched, straightening abruptly. A flush crept up his neck as he pulled his hand back in one swift motion and turned to look at her.

“Sorry,” Anna said, offering a fake, apologetic smile. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you two.”

He ran a hand through his hair in a half-useless attempt to smooth it and look more presentable. “She’s asleep.”

“I can see that,” Anna replied, her smile widening. “It still feels like I walked into a private moment.”

Marshall exhaled softly and rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to Elsa. He seemed slightly annoyed, trying to keep it cool, but Anna noticed the faint shade of pink creeping up his neck again.

She watched him quietly, her teasing softening. The lines around his eyes were deeper this morning, the bags darker.

“Long night?” she asked as she walked further into the room, careful not to wake her sister.

He gave a vague hum in response, and she didn’t push for more. Part of her wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

Anna reached the bed and gently touched Elsa’s arm with the back of her hand. The light contact made Elsa’s brow twitch, so she withdrew it carefully.

Lowering her voice, she offered, “I can stay if you need. Gerda and Kai are at some meeting. I figured you might want to eat something. Or maybe go home and rest.”

Marshall didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed fixed on the floor as he shook his head. “It’s okay. I don’t mind waiting for Gerda.”

Anna gave a soft sigh and moved to sit on the sofa. They could both stay and keep Elsa company, then. She glanced at Marshall, noting how his gaze kept drifting back to her sister, despite his attempts not to make it obvious.

She folded her arms and murmured, half under her breath, “You’re making it really hard for people to believe there’s nothing going on between you two.”

Marshall looked up, unimpressed. “Are you always this talkative when you wake up? I feel sorry for Kristoff.”

Anna grinned, knowing he was purposely avoiding the topic. “Elsa gets a free pass after what she’s been through—I won’t start teasing her now… But I don’t see why you’re still pretending. She came home wearing your clothes the night she got sick, after all.”

She wasn’t necessarily trying to fluster him. Maybe just giving him something else to think about that would ease the tension in his shoulders. When Marshall suddenly stood up, however, Anna froze, wondering if she’d pushed too far.

He just walked to the door. Before opening it, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “I’m going to grab a coffee. You want one?”

Relieved he hadn’t taken things the wrong way, she nodded. “Yes.” She let out a breath. “Thank you. Milky and with sugar, please.”

A small smile tugged at his lips, then he finally said, “Black with no sugar, it is.”

She caught the glint in his eye as he left the room and understood she’d just have to drink his bitter bitter revenge.

---

The tension in Landvik’s office was thick enough to cut with a scalpel. The grey morning light filtered through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the polished floor. A thin layer of fog clung to the glass, barely obscuring the ward buildings across the courtyard—one of which held Elsa.

Kai sat rigidly in the chair closest to the door, arms crossed over his chest. The lines on his face seemed deeper today, and he hadn’t said a word since entering the room. Beside him, Gerda sat with her hands folded tightly in her lap. Her expression was composed, but her restless eyes betrayed her unease.

At the center of the room, in the seat nearest the desk, sat Agdar. His jaw was clenched, both arms braced on the armrests, trying to maintain composure as he listened to Haugen.

“Until we receive another form of payment,” he said carefully, “I’m afraid we’ll have to place her care on temporary hold beyond the end of the week.”

“You’re telling me the clinic didn’t receive the payment?” Agdar asked.

“That’s correct,” Haugen said, laying a balance sheet on the desk. “The transfer authorization was revoked. I sent my secretary to follow up in person—I know you’re a busy man after all. The bank refused to process the funds.”

“There must be some mistake,” Agdar muttered, though the flicker of doubt in his voice betrayed the certainty he would have liked to show.

“There’s no mistake,” Haugen replied smoothly, glancing toward the window with faint satisfaction. “The funds came from your company’s account, didn’t they? If your board intervened—”

“They weren’t supposed to,” Agdar snapped. “This was a personal decision. One I have full authority to make.”

“A personal decision made with company funds?” Haugen raised an eyebrow. “I imagine the board might see that differently. Not that I’m here to tell you how to run your business, of course.”

Kai shifted in his seat, interrupting their conversation, “Elsa’s care is still continuing, isn’t it? I mean, this is just a misunderstanding.”

“Rest assured,” Landvik cut in quickly, “Miss Bjorgman is receiving appropriate treatment. Everything’s covered under the previous authorization we simply—”

“But unless another payment is arranged soon,” Haugen said plainly, “we won’t be able to continue under those terms. Of course, her recovery is our top priority. It’s just a matter of paperwork and we’ll have another solution ready.”

“You mean she’ll be discharged,” Gerda said quietly, fingers tightening around the edge of her coat, trying to steady her hands. “And transferred to a public hospital, right?”

Silence fell. But Haugen’s smile said everything.

“We would never deny her treatment, Mrs. Bjorgman,” he said smugly. “We’ll simply arrange another healthcare plan for her.”

Agdar slid the balance sheet back across the desk, cutting in before the conversation went further. “There won’t be a need for that. The board doesn’t speak for me. It's nothing but a misunderstanding.”

Haugen smiled. “I believe they do.”

“Excuse me?”

“As I understand it, a board exists to protect the company’s—and the investors’—best interests. Is that not correct?”

Agdar narrowed his eyes. “As you yourself said, you're not in a position to tell me how to run my company. The money I am lending this family is mine. The payment will go through.  Everything will be sorted out by Tuesday.

“I care about transparency,” Haugen replied, still calm. “I wouldn’t want the clinic’s reputation compromised by a mismanaged transaction.”

“I believe Mr. Arendelle knows what he’s doing,” Kai growled. His tone was a warning. Low, firm, and unmistakable.

Haugen didn’t flinch. “I’m only laying out the facts. If we’re to continue housing her here—now at our expense—it’s only natural to ensure everything is in order.”

“There will be a meeting tomorrow morning,” Agdar said. “Everything will be resolved by Tuesday.”

“Tuesday is perfect,” Landvik agreed quickly with a tight smile. "I'll make sure her treatment continues as agreed."

Haugen leaned back, the faintest hint of mock admiration in his voice. “Well, now that's how you do business. You're clearly a man with a generous heart, Mr. Arendelle. I haven’t heard of many businessmen covering the full medical costs of a young woman just like that. May I ask, what does she represent to you?”

“She represents nothing,” Gerda said sharply. “She’s our daughter. And Agdar is an old friend of the family.”

Haugen’s smile widened. “I never suggested otherwise. I’m only curious. ArenCo has built a reputation in the technological and research field, and Ms. Bjorgman… Well, she is a medical mystery.”

He said it flatly, without judgment, but the words landed wrong. They coiled in the room, making Agdar feel ill with the weight of what was being implied. Before he could respond, Kai stood up and formally requested the meeting come to a close—as if it were obvious everything had been said.

---

The hallway outside the Landvik’s office felt cold and hostile when they stepped out. It wasn’t the kind of stillness Gerda was used to inside hospitals. It felt different. Unkind.

She walked with calm, measured steps, pretending the conversation inside hadn’t shaken her. Her hands stayed tucked deep in her coat pockets, hiding the faint tremor she didn’t want Kai to notice. Her fingers closed around a soft, familiar keychain nestled there. The yarn had worn smooth over the years, the little braid frayed at the ends where it had started to unravel. Strands of blue and pale gray twisted unevenly, one side tighter than the other, the knot at the end clumsy and a little bulky.

It wasn’t perfect. But it had been the first gift Elsa had ever given her.

Gerda had found it one morning, left on the edge of the kitchen counter, half-hidden beneath her purse as if Elsa hadn’t been sure she’d want it. Now, eight years later, Gerda found herself clutching it tightly, thumb tracing the uneven ridges of the braid whenever she was anxious.

“Gerda,” Agdar called her name, pulling her back to the present. “I’ll fix this. By Tuesday. You don’t need to worry.” His voice was low and careful as he tried to reassure her he had things under control.

She nodded once. She couldn’t say she trusted his word, but she had no other option. They were in too deep, and Elsa wasn’t ready to go home. At least not yet. She needed one more week. Or two. She made a mental note to talk to Nielsen later, explain the mess they were in, and see if there wasn’t a way she could bring her daughter home and care for her herself.

“I need to see Elsa,” she said after a moment, not really wanting to discuss anything that had to do with Agdar or his business. All she needed was for him to pay Haugen and buy them some time.

Kai took a step closer. “Gerda, are you—?”

“I’m okay, Honey.” She smiled, reassuringly, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Elsa must be awake by now.”

Leaving her husband to deal with Agdar. Gerda made her way to Elsa's room.

She hadn’t slept well the night before. Kristoff’s words kept echoing in her mind, reminding her she might have been doing more harm than good by hiding things. It wasn't that she hadn't really thought about the consequences of hiding the truth from her daughter before; she simply hadn’t expected Elsa to carry so much guilt without even knowing what had happened. It hurt to realize her daughter’s first instinct was always to blame herself.

She needed to tell her. Even if it shattered what little peace Elsa had managed to find after the confusion wore off. Even if it made her feel like she was back at square one. Dragging this out wouldn’t protect her anymore. Not if she was already tormenting herself with the little pieces of information she had gathered and didn’t fully comprehend.

There were too many half-truths hanging over Elsa’s head. They were building up, pressing down and threatening to break the trust they had once built between the two. If Gerda wanted to help her heal, she knew she had to start by sharing more. No matter how much it hurt, it was best to take one step at a time and let her into this new reality carefully.

Perhaps letting her know only a reduced, trusted, group of people knew about her would help her understand she was under good care—even if Gerda wasn’t so sure about that.

They had already spoken about rehabilitation, and that was one less thing on the list. Elsa still didn’t understand how long recovery might really take, but at least she’d accepted she needed to take things slow. Gerda had also explained the necessity of trusting Nielsen and the nurses, even if Elsa’s discomfort around the clinic staff hadn’t eased. Now came the hardest part: the weeks Elsa had spent unconscious, the arrangements made and the risks taken.

She couldn’t bring herself to tell Elsa the conditions they were under, though she knew she couldn’t keep everything from her anymore. Maybe if Elsa understood that only a small, trusted group knew about her condition, she’d feel a little safer. Even if Gerda wasn’t entirely sure of that herself.

Just thinking about the conversation made her stomach twist. No matter where she started, it felt like trying to climb the North Mountain in a snowstorm. But she had to start somewhere, and the accident was the one thing that couldn’t wait. She was tired of keeping her distance just to avoid Elsa seeing the injury. At least her hand was no longer wrapped. The burn was healing now, leaving behind only a rather small scar.

Peeking into Elsa’s room, Gerda let out a quiet breath, relief softening her features. Both Anna and Marshall were there, still keeping her daughter company.

Elsa sat upright against a pile of pillows, eyes fixed on the folded blanket draped across her lap. She hadn’t spoken much since waking, barely a few words when necessary. Gerda had once thought it was because of Nielsen’s or the physiatrist’s presence. Now that she got to see her in her friends’ presence, she realised the silence seemed to remain no matter who came by. Elsa was far away, locked in herself; her quiet reminding Gerda too much of the little girl she’d once taken home.

At least now, she didn’t have to be alone in that silence. Anna and Marshall filled the space with something warmer—something familiar. And hopefully, something safe.

Marshall sat beside her, angled slightly towards Elsa, forearms resting on his knees. Anna stood by the bedside table, adjusting a tray and setting a fresh glass of water within reach. She spoke softly, animatedly, about something she’d read once about water. The sound of her voice, light and easy, brought a small, unexpected smile to Gerda’s lips.

Let Anna fill the silence with mundane chatter, hoping the normalcy of it might bring her sister some comfort.

At the sound of Gerda’s quiet laugh, all three looked up. Anna being the first to greet her. “Gerda,” she said, surprised but gentle. “We didn’t see you there.”

Marshall stood, offering her a short nod. He was always polite, always respectful—but there was still hesitation in his manner. With Kai, there was tension. With her, there was uncertainty. Some days he felt comfortable enough to talk and confide in her even. Other days, he didn’t seem to know how to behave.

Gerda wished that would change. She wished he didn’t feel the need to walk on eggshells around the family—especially not if he was becoming an important part of Elsa’s life.

“Thank you both for keeping Elsa company,” Gerda said softly, though her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Anna glanced at Elsa, then back at Gerda. “Do you want us to...?” she asked, gesturing to herself, then Marshall and the door.

Gerda gave a small nod. “If you don’t mind. I’d like to spend the rest of the morning with her.”

Elsa didn’t look up, but Gerda saw her stiffen. She couldn’t tell if it was anticipation or dread. Not knowing hurt more than she wanted to admit. But after keeping her distance all week, afraid Elsa would notice her injury, she couldn’t expect things to feel easy now.

Elsa's posture stiffened, even though she didn’t look up. Gerda couldn’t tell if it was anticipation or dread. And not knowing hurt more than she wanted to admit. But after keeping her distance for so many days, afraid Elsa would notice her injury, she couldn’t expect things to feel easy now.

Anna glanced at Marshall, who nodded once and stepped towards the door. Before leaving, he looked at Elsa and promised her to return in the evening.

Gerda offered him a grateful smile. She didn’t know how or when their friendship had begun, but she was thankful for it.

She waited until the door clicked shut behind them before crossing the room. Her legs felt weak beneath her. She paused at the foot of the bed, one hand resting on it. She searched Elsa’s eyes, but Elsa turned her attention to the window, her eyes glassy and jaw clenched tight.

Gerda didn’t rush her. She gave her a moment, just in case she wanted to speak first. But Elsa stayed silent. 

“I hope I didn’t interrupt,” Gerda said gently, a small smile tugging at her lip. “Anna seemed... entertained enough.”

Elsa gave the faintest shake of her head.

Gerda watched her for a moment longer, then sat down on the edge of the bed. The weight of everything Gerda needed to say pressed on her chest suddenly, and she wasn’t sure how to start the conversation.

“Will the physician come today?” Elsa asked.

“Physiatrist,” corrected Gerda, gently. With a smile, she placed her hand gently on Elsa’s knee. “Not today, just you and me this morning. No one else.”

Elsa didn’t respond. Her eyes looked at Gerda briefly before they drifted to her hand. Slowly, her brow furrowed.

Gerda followed her eyes and felt the air shift between them. Her hand twitched slightly, but she didn’t move to hide the scar that peeked out from beneath her sleeve.

“Did I—” Elsa’s voice caught. “Did I do that to you?”

Gerda didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her daughter’s face.

Elsa flinched.

“Nothing serious happened to me, dear,” Gerda whispered. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

Elsa shook her head, pulling slightly away. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know.”

“I didn’t—”

“I know, Elsa.” Gerda’s voice didn’t waver. “I’d never blame you.”

Gerda touched her cheek then, soft and steady. Elsa trembled, but didn’t pull away. Her eyes brimming with tears.

“I don’t want to do it again,” she said, voice hollow as she dropped her gaze. “I don’t want to keep hurting you. Or anyone.”

Gerda was tired of seeing her like this—hurting, blaming herself for things beyond her control. A wave of helplessness surged through her, and she had to blink her own tears away.

“You won’t hurt me.”

“I did.”

Gerda’s brow furrowed. “Elsa—”

“I don’t remember how,” Elsa whispered. “But it doesn’t matter. I still did it. It’s a matter of time until I lose control and I hurt you a third time.”

“You weren’t well,” Gerda said. “You didn’t know what was happening—”

“But I did.” Tears threatened to fall again, as her voice broke but she blinked them back furiously. “I always end up hurting the people I care about.”

Gerda let her hand fall, heart pounding. She wanted to argue. To tell her she was wrong. But she could see the cracks. She was barely holding together.

“Sweetheart—” she began again.

“I don’t know how to fix it.” Elsa’s fingers clenched the blanket tighter. “I want to. I want to so badly. But I don’t know how to make it stop. I don’t know how to be normal.”

Gerda couldn’t hold back any longer. She wrapped her arms around Elsa, holding her tightly—urgently—as though trying to keep her from slipping over the edge.

Elsa resisted. Her hands pushed once, but they lacked strength. Then she gave in. Hesitantly, she sank into her mother’s arms.

Gerda tightened her embrace. She rocked her gently, like she used to when Elsa was younger.

Elsa’s trembling fingers clutched at her sweater. Her breath hitched. And then she broke, quietly letting Gerda try to fix it for her.

---

Elsa’s breathing slowed, just barely, as she curled against her mother’s shoulder. The warmth of Gerda’s embrace should have soothed her. It should have made things easier.

But something gnawed at her.

That pressure.

The pressure that had lived inside her for days now. It was silent and constant, like a storm that wouldn’t break. The more she allowed herself to feel, the more suffocating it became.

Elsa stiffened, the realisation hitting her all at once. The only reason her powers weren’t spiraling was because something wasn’t right. She had sensed they were behaving strangely, restrained in a way she couldn’t explain.

She couldn’t believe she had let herself relax around her mother when she knew her powers couldn’t be trusted.

At this realisation and without warning, she pulled back, her body trembling as she pushed herself out of the embrace.

Gerda’s hold loosened instantly, “What is it? Does anything hurt?”

Elsa couldn’t meet her eyes. She folded her hands over her stomach, hiding them. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

Gerda reached for her, but Elsa recoiled, panic flashing across her face like lightning.

“No. Don’t! Please,” she begged. “I don’t think I should touch you right now.”

Gerda stayed still, wanting to respect her wishes. “Elsa, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Elsa snapped. Her breath caught and she dropped her voice immediately. “You don’t understand—” She looked down. “It’s too quiet.”

Gerda tilted her head, not following.

“The ice,” Elsa said, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s pushing, but something feels different. Something’s wrong.”

Slowly, she pressed her palm against the blanket, bracing for the familiar tingle. There was nothing. She should feel relieved it wasn’t controlling her for once, but it didn’t feel right. The unnatural stillness felt wrong. It made her anxious in a way she couldn’t explain.

“It’s not me holding it back.” Her eyes met Gerda’s, wide and frightened. “I don’t know what’s happening. It’s still there, I can feel it crawling under my skin, but I don’t know when it’s going to snap.”

“Elsa—”

“I mean it,” she insisted, voice rising again. “Please, you have to understand. It’s not safe. I don’t know what it’ll do the next time I fall asleep or panic or—”

Gerda reached up slowly, her hand barely brushing her cheek to dry her tears. “Stop, sweetheart. Just breathe.”

Elsa flinched at the touch.

“You are not dangerous, dear.”

Elsa wanted so badly to believe her. She wanted to lean back in. To close her eyes and pretend none of it mattered.

Gerda’s eyes softened. “It’s under control. I need you to trust me.”

Elsa blinked. “What do you mean?”

Gerda hesitated.

And that was enough for her to understand. “It’s not me,” she whispered.

Gerda looked away for the briefest second. Then nodded. “It’s a medicine. Just a little something in your IVs. It’s helping regulate your system, enough to keep things... calm.”

Elsa didn’t speak. Her throat closed up, and for a moment, she thought she might be sick.

Just a little pinprick. There’ll be no more…

That old voice inside her whispered it like it had never left. She felt caged, like a dangerous thing too unstable to trust. But she didn’t let it show. Only her hands betrayed her, curled into fists against her gown, fingernails biting into her palms.

“I see,” she said at last.

Gerda flinched, guilt flashing across her face. Somehow, that made it worse. Like she understood how much this would hurt and still agreed to it.

The silence between them stretched long and brittle, like ice over a deep lake thin enough to crack if one of them moved too quickly.

“It’s just temporary,” Gerda said gently. “To keep you safe.”

Elsa wanted to believe her. But fear had become a reflex—etched deep into her bones. She didn’t trust her voice, didn’t trust the frantic pulse pounding beneath her skin. Her chest burned with the effort to stay contained, to keep the panic buried.

She needed to believe her. She would hold on to that one thread and see if it held.

---

I feel like I’ve been editing this chapter for over a week, phew!

Anyway, a new chapter! And I’m excited about this one. Some parts of these scenes have been written for over six months. They were waiting in a dusty folder to see the light of day. I had to adapt them a bit; some other scenes are completely new. A lot more things than I originally intended happened in this chapter. Especially towards the end. Even I was surprised by Elsa and Gerda’s conversation.

Thank you all for your reviews and comments. I hope you like this chapter and continue to enjoy this story. Let me know what you think of the chapter itself, the characters or anything else that called your attention. I love reading your thoughts.

Also, I was planning to post this chapter on Sunday, as a small gift for “friends’ day” here in my country. But since it was friends’ day I spent all Saturday night and Sunday day out… which might surprise you but doesn’t help with my writing in the least. Go figure.

I hope you accept this little belated gift and enjoy it!

Take care and read you soon!

---

Tag time:

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Despite missing the quiet evenings with her mother from time to time, she was thankful Kristoff had asked her to live together before Elsa’s ordeal began. Not only was his apartment significantly closer to the clinic, but she was glad she didn’t need to come home to the uncomfortable tension between her parents every evening —especially not after having been sitting in the waiting room for hours.

There were days she wondered what their arguments were about. Most of the time they were about Elsa, she knew. But she had never felt comfortable staying long enough to find out what exactly they were saying. Something deep inside told her it was best that way.

As she left her bag on the floor to then hang her coat, she thought back to the last time she had entered the house. Agdar and Idunn had been engrossed in a fight, and instead of trying to intervene, she had simply rushed upstairs, picked some clothes and left before they had the chance to even notice her presence.

Deep down she hoped this time would be different and she’d be able to enjoy a quiet evening with them instead.

“Anna?”

She heard her mother’s voice coming from the kitchen. A moment later, Idunn walked into the hall, her expression lighting up as soon as she saw her.

“Oh, sweetheart…” She closed the distance between them quickly, reaching for Anna’s face before she pulled her into her arms. “It’s been days.”

Sinking into the warmth of her mother’s arms, Anna let herself enjoy the comfort she offered.

“I know,” Anna murmured. “I’m sorry I haven’t visited. Things have been— It’s been hard.”

Idunn pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes. “I can imagine,” she whispered, her voice laced with sadness. She then frowned, brushing Anna’s hair back behind her ear. “You look exhausted.”

Anna gave a small, tired laugh. Her mother had always read her like an open book. “Kristoff hasn’t been sleeping much these past few weeks. I’ve been keeping him company.”

Idunn’s shoulders slumped, the relief at seeing her quickly being replaced by deep concern for their wellbeing. "Poor thing. He must be so worried. At least he can now visit her."

Anna let go of her mother and gave a small shrug. “We only got the chance to see her for the first time two days ago.”

Idunn frowned with confusion. “I thought you said the doctor was going to let you see her last week.”

“That was the plan,” Anna explained. She kneeled to take some books out of her bag and then hung it next to her jacket. “Nielsen pushed the date back. Elsa was still too weak and confused. She had to stay in the ICU for a couple more days.”

Closing her eyes, her mother took a deep breath before she asked, “How is she now?”

Anna hesitated for a moment. Despite knowing there was no reason to lie to her mother, she couldn’t stand the dejected look in her eyes whenever they talked about Elsa’s health.

“She’s in a lot of pain,” she finally admitted. “She’s on painkillers, anxiolytics and… and I don’t know what else. It’s hard to keep track of everything they tell us.”

“I can’t believe a simple cut can cause all of this,” Idunn murmured, as if she was merely thinking out loud. “If I had known…”

Raising an eyebrow, Anna looked at her expecting her to finish the idea.

Waving a hand in front of her, Idunn dismissed it. “It’s hard to imagine a home accident can put your health at risk like this. That’s all.”

Anna nodded briefly and opened her mouth to reply, though the smell of something burning caught her attention. “Talking about accidents… Did you turn off the stove?”

“Oh, no,” exclaimed Idunn as she rushed into the kitchen. “No, no.”

Anna shook her head and followed her mother, a small smile tugging at her lips. She could only hope whatever she had been cooking was still edible.

Before going into the kitchen, Anna detoured to her father’s office to return the books he had lent her. A pile of scattered papers and folders on top of his desk caught her eye, making her curious.

Knowing one day she would be expected to take over the company, Anna began inspecting the balance sheets and reports. Everything belonged to ArenCo, like she had suspected, and half the things were documents she barely understood.

Letting out a tired sigh, she remembered she was supposed to start learning more about the family business sooner or later. She had never paid too much attention to it before; but knowing about Elsa's existence, about her struggles, and now the possibility of her not recovering entirely, she wanted to make sure their part of the company would be secure and profitable. It was the very least she could do for her sister.

Absent-mindedly, she kept looking at the documents while her mind wandered back to Elsa. Despite the doctors’ original prognosis, she trusted Elsa to be stubborn enough to overcome whatever was coming now and prove doctors wrong. But even if she did, Elsa still had a long way to go.

“It is a big step.” Gerda had said, talking about Elsa standing. “But she won’t get up and walk out of here in a week. There will be a lot of pain. A lot of frustration… And days where she won’t want to try at all.”

The idea of her sister not wanting to try was what scared her the most. She wasn’t entirely sure how to help if it came to that. And she wasn't sure how it could affect Kristoff.

Shaking her head, Anna tried to stay positive. She needed to see Elsa’s first steps as what they were, the first steps to her recovery, not something to brush off.

Anna put the books away in the bookshelf, and only when she turned to leave did she notice her father’s handwriting standing out in red over one of the balance sheets. Negative numbers were scrawled over the printed figures, marking a substantial withdrawal. Hundreds of thousands had been taken from the company’s funds, and for a moment she wondered how such a large amount had gone over the accountants' heads.

Elsa’s expenses then came to mind.

She picked the balance sheet and inspected it. The notes underneath seemed to be a reminder of some kind. A conversation Agdar still needed to have with someone inside the company. Her sister’s name was among those notes, proving her right.

Anna was grateful her father had the means to cover Elsa’s hospitalization. Her in-laws and Kristoff could’ve never shouldered such an overwhelming debt on their own, no matter how hard they tried. Still, she couldn’t help wondering if there existed the chance Haugen could ask for more money before Elsa was discharged from the clinic. And if the company would be willing to shoulder those expenses as well.

Cold fear ran down her spine, like a bucket of ice water dumped over her shoulders. Seeing those numbers, scrawled over the balance sheet like a warning. It reminded her Elsa wasn’t safe. Her health was only part of the reason to worry, and Anna was running out of reasons to stay hopeful.

“Dinner isn't entirely ruined!” She heard her mother calling from the kitchen, startling her.

Knowing it was a matter of time until Idunn came looking for her. She placed the sheet back onto the desk, she took one more deep breath and tried to get a grip of her emotions before she met her mother again.

---

As soon as Anna entered the kitchen, Idunn could tell something was wrong.

She looked distracted, her gaze far off and her shoulders hunched in a way that hadn’t been mere minutes before. It was like the weight of some invisible truth had settled over her, like she’d received terrible news in the time she walked from the front door to the kitchen.

Idunn missed the days when Anna would come straight to her with whatever was on her mind. She missed the way they used to talk without all these careful silences. Their relationship had changed. They both had. Somewhere along the way, it had morphed into something Idunn barely recognized, and she wasn’t sure how to start fixing their strained relationship.

She hoped that spending this quiet evening together, after so long, would help them narrow the breach between them. And more importantly, she hoped Anna’d feel comfortable sharing whatever had got grip of her thoughts.

“I was making pasta,” Idunn said after a long silence. She lifted the lid from the pot to reveal the burnt remnants of the sauce inside. “This was supposed to be bolognese…” The smell said otherwise. It was sharp and bitter. Still, the sight drew a faint chuckle from both of them, even when their smiles didn’t reach their eyes.

“Is cheese sauce okay?” she asked, reaching for another pot. She’d prepare anything that’d help lift her daughter’s spirits.

Anna smiled and nodded, but remained concerningly quiet otherwise. She simply slid into her usual seat at the kitchen table, and watched her cook.

Idunn prepared the ingredients she needed in silence. And began stealing glances over her shoulder as she cooked.

Anna looked tired. Worn out in a way that she hasn't seen before. Like the last few weeks —months truly— had finally caught up with her.

At the sight, Idunn couldn’t help but remember Elsa. Thinking back to the last time she had seen her before the hospital. She had sat in that same chair. Thin, quiet, eyes sunken with exhaustion.

Pain and regret pulled at Idunn’s heart right then. She’d had the chance to help. She’d known something wasn’t right but hadn’t done enough. She didn't want to be the one to push too hard, the fear of losing her stopped her from doing what she knew was best. She now hated herself for putting her own fears before Elsa’s needs that day. If only she had driven her to the ER, she might have kept her from ending up in the hospital. Maybe even spared her the heartache of hearing what Agdar had said as well.

The silence between mother and daughter stretched, and Idunn couldn’t hold herself back any longer.

“You were telling me about Elsa,” she finally said, her voice gentle, afraid any wrong word would drive her younger daughter away as well.

Anna hesitated like there were too many things to say. Idunn could see the way her daughter’s jaw tightened, trying to find a version of the truth that didn’t hurt to speak out loud.

“I spent most of the day with her on Thursday,” Anna said eventually, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Gerda let me stay with her. Keep them both company.”

Idunn sighed, a small smile drawing in her face despite the pain she felt for not being the one there by their daughters’ side. She was thankful life had allowed Elsa into Gerda’s life. As well as Anna. She was certain the woman loved them both and was doing everything in her power to protect them in her own way.

“She’s recovering. Sort of. Slowly…” Anna trailed off.

There was a heaviness in Anna’s voice. Something that told Idunn she wasn’t being completely honest, or in the very least, trying hard to make things look better than they were.

“I wish I could do something. Help in any way,” Idunn admitted.

“You and Dad are helping. What you’re giving her is more than Kai or Gerda could ever pay on short notice.”

Anna meant well, but the words hit differently. Money didn’t fix things. Not this. Not what had been said or what was left unsaid for too many years. “It isn’t the same, dear. We aren’t helping Elsa overcome any of it with just money.”

“Maybe you can be there for her now. Show her you care,” Anna said with a sad smile. “Gerda says she’ll probably have a hard time dealing with everything that happened to her in the last month. Having people who care around might be the best for her.”

“I don’t think I’d be welcome.”

“You’re family.”

Idunn let out a soft breath. “I wasn’t there when she needed me the most, Anna. I can’t pretend otherwise. I don’t want to force myself into her life if she doesn’t want me there.”

Anna hesitated for a moment. “You want to see her, don’t you?”

Her fingers tightened around the dishcloth in her hand. The question hurt, no matter how innocently Anna had meant it to be. The question felt too direct, trying to expose something that wasn’t there.

“Of course I do. It’s been hard staying at home… Waiting,” she said. Her voice was low, slightly offended, but Idunn gave a faint shake of her head, getting rid of the feeling. “I still think it’s best to wait. At least until she’s feeling better.”

Anna didn’t argue, but she still looked unconvinced. Idunn knew she was in the right to doubt her. The thing is, she was afraid of walking into Elsa’s life too soon. Too fast. She did agree Elsa needed all the help she could get, especially now that she was inside that clinic, surrounded by unreliable people.

Making up her mind, Idunn left the kitchen and made her way to the living room. She needed to prove —even if it was with something small— that she was thinking of Elsa. That she did care.

Quickly searching on her bookshelf, she found the book she’d set aside earlier that week. It was old and it portrayed several characters on the cover, among them a familiar snowman. The edition was different, older, an anthology of short stories. But she knew, without a doubt, Elsa would enjoy it. That it would help her get her mind off things for a while.

When she turned around, she saw Anna standing not far from her, intrigued by what she was doing.

“I’ve got something she might like,” Idunn said. “Days have been quiet without you here. I’ve been helping Helga at the shop during the afternoons—it helps keep my mind busy. She found it while going through some boxes in the back. I bought it for her.”

She held the book out to her, and Anna took it gently, her thumb brushing over its worn edges. 

“Maybe she’d like something to keep her mind entertained.”

Anna’s expression shifted. She blinked at the cover, recognition dawning in her eyes. “This is—”

The corners of Idunn’s lips lifted as she nodded. “Didn’t you say she loved the other one?”

“You should be the one giving it to her this time,” Anna said straight away.

Idunn’s smile faltered. “Who knows when I’ll get to see her. You better give it to her.”

Anna frowned. “Mum, it’s from you.”

Though Idunn was already turning back towards the kitchen. It hurt to make that choice. She wanted to agree with Anna in a heartbeat. She wanted to use this or any other excuse to go see Elsa. But she couldn’t ignore the hurt in Elsa’s face the last time they saw each other. She might not have said anything, but she was begging her to let her go, not to force her way into her life. Especially not after Agdar’s admission.

“I don’t want to intrude,” she said when Anna called her name again.

Anna sat back down and stopped insisting when she noticed she wouldn’t change her mind. She looked down at the book, turning a few pages absent-mindedly.

Silence fell between them, and Idunn felt guilty for ignoring Anna’s wishes. Things weren’t so simple, and there was no right way to explain her reasons without breaking Elsa’s promise.

“Where’s Dad?” Anna asked after a while, when the food was ready and Idunn asked her to put the book away.

“He’s been working late these last few days,” Idunn replied, reaching for the dishes in an attempt to avoid any further questions.

The truth was, Agdar had been working late most days, coming home long after she’d had dinner. He always apologized. For being late, for forgetting to call. And the apology was real, so was the reason. Still, there was a distance between them that neither knew how to bridge, and Idunn wasn’t entirely sure she cared.

She hadn’t forgiven him for the pain he had inflicted on Elsa. It had been too blunt for her to brush off. They were both responsible for their choices, but his words had caused damage. Irreversible damage. The kind that settled deep and didn’t go away just because he said sorry.

“Will he join us for dinner?” Anna asked, unsure what her silence meant.

“I don’t know,” Idunn admitted. She didn’t want to tell her something had broken between them, but she wouldn’t lie for him either. “He hasn’t called.”

---

Cold air swept into the room, chilling Kristoff to the bone. The last hour or so he had made an effort to tolerate it, but as the night set in, it was becoming more and more unbearable.

The cold wasn't coming from the open window alone. Kristoff knew that much. There was something else than the crisp autumn air. It was the kind of cold that would creep under his sister's bedroom door late at night when they were younger. The kind that had hung in the air the first few months she had come to live with them. The exact kind that let him know she wasn’t having a good day.

Shaking his head, he tried not to think too much about it. He hated those moments when he became overly aware of his sister’s powers. When the bitterness towards them controlled his thoughts and he couldn’t focus on anything else. It wasn’t that he didn’t accept them, but it was hard to see something shape and control the life of someone you loved and not become slightly resentful over time.

Putting his hands back in his pockets, he tried to get rid of the chill running down his back before Elsa noticed. His eyes darted to her and noticed with a heavy heart that she was still in the same position. Curled up beneath the blankets, her face turned slightly away from him, facing the darkness outside.

While some others could say she was simply lost in thought, he could see the tension in her expression. Her brows were furrowed just enough to show it. And either she was thinking deeply about something, or making a strenuous effort to control her powers. He had always had trouble discerning the two.

He straightened up in the chair, folding his arms over his chest in a vain attempt to stay warm. Though the movement caught Elsa’s attention and she slowly turned to look at him. She pressed her lips together as her eyes flickered towards the window for a split second.

"You can close it," she finally murmured.

"Huh?" he said, pretending he hadn’t been thinking about it for the last hour.

"The window." Her voice was soft, barely there, and she kept avoiding his eyes. "You can close it if you're cold."

The awkwardness of the moment made him miss the days Elsa would not only look at him, but also make playful remarks about him not tolerating the smallest gust of wind. On occasions, he’d even suck it up just to prove to her it didn’t bother him. It had always been a stupid thing between them, and he wondered how long it'd take for things to be like that again. The most pessimistic part of him told him nothing would truly go back to the way things were before the illness—or before she found her biological family, and her life came crashing down around her. 

"I'm not c—" He stopped. Then glanced between her and the open window hesitating, there was no reason to lie after all. Instead, he said, "It isn't necessary."

She didn’t argue like he’d have hoped. She simply looked away, which was a lot worse.

"A nurse will come and close it eventually," she muttered. "They always do."

He exhaled quietly, stepping towards the window and sliding it shut. The latch clicked into place, but the cold didn’t leave. He rubbed his arms, pretending he was shaking off the lingering chill.

"Thanks," he said, moving back to her bedside. "I know you enjoy the cold breeze, but it's getting colder and colder every day. Autumn is going by faster than I imagined."

Elsa knitted her brows, her eyes fixing on her hands as she tried to make sense of what he’d said. "September’s just begun."

Kristoff frowned and before he could stop himself he said, "It's October."

He saw it then, the moment she narrowed her eyes and her fingers tensed against the sheets. It was subtle, but it was there. A moment of realization settling in, a quiet kind of shock that she didn’t voice.

He cursed his own stupidity for not being more careful, for not realising she was still adapting to everything that had happened. He wanted to snap at the doctors for not taking the time to explain things to her. Though there was no reason to fight over choices that had already been made.

"You were in a coma for over two weeks," he explained.

Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on his knees. His eyes fixed on the floor while his mind wandered back to those long nights. He’d been too worried to fall asleep, and when sleep did come, he always woke up agitated. Afraid his mother would call to tell him she was gone.

He tried to keep his tone gentle, but deep down knew it wouldn’t make a difference. "And another week and a half in the ICU after you woke up."

She didn’t say anything at first. Just stared down at her hands, her expression unreadable.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I know it must be difficult to—"

"There isn't anything we can do about it," she cut in, her voice surprisingly soft and understanding.

It wasn’t the first time Elsa had lost time, he guessed. Who knew how many weeks had gone by in her life, in her childhood, without her realising it. The thought did nothing to appease the heartache. "No, I guess not."

Silence stretched between them, heavily. Like there was so much more they wanted to say to one another and they didn’t know how. Kristoff shifted his weight in the small chair. He glanced at her thin hand which gripped the sheet as an anchor. She had always been slender, but he hadn't seen her this way ever since she moved in with his parents.

A memory came to him then. They’d been together in her bedroom. Elsa sitting in bed, her frail body too weak for her to do much else. It was the first week after she had reentered his life, and he had been too ecstatic to wait for her to feel better to spend time with her.

He remembered the way he had talked, fast and hopeful, filling the silences she didn’t know how to break. She had nodded along, barely speaking, only asking for one thing…

"Remember when you first came to live with Mum and Dad?" he asked.

Her fingers twitched slightly, but she turned her head in his direction. At least he had sparked her curiosity. He took that tiny movement as a small gift. She didn’t speak, but he thought he saw the faintest trace of a question there.

"I used to spend my days in your room," he said. "You’d ask me to open your window despite the cold winter air, and I always did. It used to drive mum crazy. She was afraid we’d get sick or something." He smiled faintly at the memory. "She got tired of nagging me eventually and bought me this thick woollen sweater instead… I should have brought one of those today."

Elsa’s brow furrowed. "I don’t remember that."

A sad smile drew on his face. Of course, she didn’t. There had been too much to take in back then. An open window and a new sweater had probably been the least of her concerns.

"I don't blame you," he said. "There were all these new things for you to get used to."

"Like how to open a window?"

He chuckled. It was a joke made out of frustration, he knew, but at least it was something other than a tired sigh or tense silence. "It was the first week or so. You were still bedridden back then, you couldn’t open the window on your own."

"Those days are all blurry," she admitted. Her brows furrowed, as if she was still trying to remember.

His smile faded slightly. "Every evening Mum would come home with bags full of things for you—clothes, stuffed animals, things for your room. She must have felt guilty at some point, so she started bringing me gifts as well." He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "That woman’s got a heart of gold."

When he looked at her again, her gaze held an ache that hadn’t been there a moment before. She wasn’t even looking at him anymore. Her eyes had drifted back to her hands, or maybe beyond them, towards something only she could see. Something was occupying his sister’s mind, but he knew it had nothing to do with their conversation.

“Els?” He called when the silence stretched longer than he expected. 

“Is mum okay?" she asked suddenly, catching him off guard.

Kristoff froze, his heart stopping for a split second. "What?"

"Gerda." Her voice was firmer as she met his eyes. "Is she okay?"

Kristoff felt his stomach tighten. "Why do you ask?"

"Is she?"

He could lie. He should lie. But Elsa’s gaze was on him now, sharp and searching, desperate in a way that made his throat feel tight.

"No," he said finally, regretting it as soon as he noticed the pain in her eyes. “I mean, she’s tired— But she’s okay, yes.”

"Kristoff." Her voice didn’t waver, but there was something fragile about it. "I’m still trying to make sense of everything that happened, so please, I need you to be honest with me. Is she okay?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He was afraid of saying too much. He wasn’t even sure she was asking about their mother getting hurt. So he settled for something honest in between.

“It’s been a long month. We were all worried about you. I guess now that you’re back, it’s catching up with her. But you don’t need to worry.”

Elsa looked unconvinced, but she didn’t push. Her eyes drifted back to the window.

Kristoff felt bad for her—guilty, too—for being part of the tangled web of lies surrounding his sister. A web he hadn’t spun, but hadn’t fought hard enough to escape either.

“They wouldn’t let us into the ICU. It was either Mum or Marshall. Mum didn’t want to leave you alone during the day. She couldn’t, really… She didn’t want to be anywhere else.” He hoped what he was offering helped ease her mind, at least until he could talk to their mother. Gerda needed to make up her mind and come clean to Elsa. 

“She’s tired, Elsa. But she’s so happy you’re awake. That you’re getting better,” he said with a small smile.

The words didn’t seem to help much, but before he could say anything else, the door opened widely letting one of the nurses in.

"Time for a quick check-up," she announced. She rubbed her arms and glanced at the now closed window. "Good heavens, it’s freezing in here."

Kristoff stood up and introduced himself, not having met the old lady before. “I’m Kristoff. Elsa’s brother.” He cast a brief look at the window as well and explained, "I opened the window earlier; we enjoy the fresh air.”

The woman shook his hand but didn’t say anything, only nodded. Kristoff then stepped aside to let her work.

Noticing his sister sinking further into herself, however, he decided to keep a close eye, just in case he was needed. In their last meeting, Nielsen had explained that not every nurse in the ward was aware of Elsa’s condition. Only a couple from the ICU had been brought in. Those he trusted enough to handle things when the subject of ice came up. Outside their presence, it was safer to keep everything under wraps.

Elsa’s powers were still being monitored, controlled as best as possible with the help of anxiolytics. They dulled them, just enough to keep things stable. But not enough to stop them entirely. Or so it seemed. The chilling air in the room said otherwise and he made a mental note to discuss it with his mother as well.

The nurse picked up the clipboard from the foot of the bed and began asking a series of questions. Most of them sounded routine, borderline unnecessary, but he figured they were meant to ensure Elsa was still responsive. Her mental state had been one of Nielsen’s main concerns, but since leaving the ICU, she seemed more alert with each day. At least in terms of memory and awareness.

Kristoff’s curiosity in the check-up picked up when he heard the nurse ask about her feeling any pain.

"The usual," Elsa whispered, still not looking at the woman.

"How about nausea?"

A small nod.

The nurse made a note on a separate notebook and left the clipboard in its place.

"You still feel nauseous?" Kristoff interrupted, unable to hide his concern.

"It’s the medicine," the nurse said matter-of-factly.

She then moved to adjust the IV, injecting some more medication in the bag. Kristoff grimaced knowing it would only make Elsa feel worse in the next few hours, but he guessed it was necessary. Until the day she was discharged, there was nothing to do about it.

Kristoff watched his sister carefully. She wasn’t looking at either of them, her gaze focused on the sheets she kept gripping tightly. There was something in her resignation that didn't sit well with him. No matter the reason she had been hospitalized before, she had always put up a fight. Even in the smallest things, she never complied, not entirely. Now, she seemed resigned to accept whatever came her way, and not in a calm, understanding way, but in the kind that suggested it no longer mattered.

The fire was out.

And for the first time since she had fallen ill, his fears shifted. It wasn’t her physical health that worried him now, but her mind. Her spirit. His concerns were now fixed on whether his sister still had any strength left in her.

---

Kristoff pulled his jacket tighter around himself as he stepped out of the clinic. The cold night air bit at his skin and the soft, cold drizzle fell steadily, explaining why the streets were so empty on a Saturday night.

It was almost midnight by the time he left his sister’s room. He’d called Marshall earlier that day, asking him to show up around eleven instead of eight. He’d wanted a bit more time with Elsa, just the two of them. It hadn’t made much of a difference, but at least he had got the chance to be with her and hopefully let her know how much he missed her. He regretted not being more open with his feelings sometimes, hopefully she noticed how much he truly cared.

Despite his regrets, he had at least been with her for more than an hour. And that counted for something. The more he thought about his sister and everything she was going through, the more he missed the days when she used to let her walls down around him more easily. 

He guessed that, in a quiet, altered way, she still tried. Her voice lingered in his mind, soft with concern. He couldn’t shake the look in her eyes when she’d asked about Gerda. It had unsettled him more than he cared to admit, knowing he couldn’t say what had really happened and how their mother was truly feeling.

He hated that she doubted herself. But he couldn’t ignore the truth either. The burn on Gerda’s arm was real, and it had to be acknowledged with care. Elsa wouldn’t see what they saw: An accident, an unconscious reflex. Instead she’d believe she couldn’t be trusted.

His thoughts weighed on him as he turned a familiar corner, his feet carrying him past a building with a dimly lit entrance. He paused, eyes drawn to the worn steps he had climbed so many times as a kid.

The orphanage stood tall, weathered but intact despite the years gone by. His first home. Or at least, the first home he could remember. He couldn’t say life had been hard in that place, but it hadn't been warm either. Not in the way life with Kai and Gerda was. The few good memories he had were tied to Elsa and his parents, more than the institution itself.

It was strange to realise how many years had gone by, and how little things had really changed. He was still afraid of losing those he had got to call his family. He was still chasing after Elsa in a way. He was still filled with child-like wonder whenever she used her powers and still quietly resentful of those same powers keeping them apart. Things were so different, yet he and his sister were still frozen in time, haunted by the shadows they never learned to leave behind.

Sometimes he wondered what Elsa thought of that place. What her memories of that time were. He had never asked. They’d talked about it here and there, but the conversations never lasted more than a minute or two. A shared memory. A passing question. Something small to acknowledge their shared past. He suspected they both avoided it on purpose.

He didn’t really understand why, of all times, those thoughts were surfacing now. But he pushed them aside and kept going. It was late, and he suspected his parents were already asleep—but he couldn’t return to his place without speaking to them first. Shaking his head, he continued down the road to their house.

---

Guess what’s back. Back again. Søsken’s back. Tell a friend.

It’s been so long! I’m sorry for taking more than I expected to come back to this story. But the Søsken prequel “Kjølig Vennskap” kept me truly entertained the last couple of months.

If you haven’t read it yet, I suggest you jump straight to it after this chapter. It doesn’t change Søsken’s story in the slightless, but it gives you more background on Elsa and Marshall’s friendship. It also let us see more about Elsa’s life in the mountain and how she adapted to life on her own. If you do read it, let me know what you think of it!

Anyway, about this chapter. I was originally planning to include Kristoff’s conversation with his parents in this chapter as well, but then I realised the chapter was already 6k+ words and I thought it was best to divide it in two. So that means I’ll be posting chapter 57 soon, hopefully.

Also, some of you were a bit confused as to how we jumped from Elsa being confused inside the ICU one chapter and in a common ward the next. I purposely made the time jump rather fast to explain it later on in this chapter. I hope it’s a bit more clear now! I’m not really good at showing time going by as you may have noticed.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It’s a quiet one, more like a transition than anything else. Let me know what you think.

I’m sorry I haven’t answered your comments yet, but trust me when I say I’ve enjoyed reading each and every one. Reading your opinions really makes my day.Enjoy and I hope to read you all soon!

---

Tag time:

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She didn’t depend entirely on the income she made. Kai had insisted on sending money, helping her for as long as she needed. She was looking after the cottage on her own as well as building her life in that place. But still, she had been allowed to believe she could actually do something she wasn’t ready for, and the letdown felt a lot worse than she wanted to admit.

She had wanted to prove to Gerda and Kai she could do it. She wanted to be able to keep herself afloat and make their load lighter. But the more she thought about it, the more she realised it had simply been wishful thinking.

And nothing reminded her of that better than standing in Westergaard’s office again after just a few months.

She had avoided coming back to the resort for as long as she could. But as the amateur skiers started to leave, she knew she needed something to keep her afloat during the low season. She wasn’t even sure if there were openings. She no longer cared about being hired as an instructor. All she needed was something. Anything. A repetitive task no one liked. Preferably far from people. But she could adapt. She had to… if she ever wanted to learn how to live among others.

The resort office smelled faintly of wood, ink, and the sharp tang of a coffee left forgotten on the corner of the desk. Elsa stood near it, clutching a folder tightly in one hand.

She tried offering Westergaard the folder. The man didn’t even bother to look up when she did. And kept scribbling on a notepad, flipping a paper over.

The information inside was the same, so it wasn’t like he was missing anything important, still she felt a spark of anger rising. This time, Kristoff had been the one to write the information. He had lied a bit more and suggested she used a folder.

“I’ve told you before,” Westergaard said, breathing out, clearly exasperated. “We need certified instructors. And we won’t hire new ones till next year.”

Elsa’s fingers tightened on the folder, creasing it.

“I know,” she said, quietly. “But I wanted to ask if—” She breathed in, calming her nerves down, making sure the room didn’t get too cold. “If there’s anything else I could do around here. I haven’t got any experience, but—”

Westergaard pinched the bridge of his nose and cut her off. “I’m not running a charity.”

Before Elsa could respond, the door behind her creaked open.

“Oops, I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know you had company,” a young man said. Nodding an apology in Elsa’s direction.

“I don’t.” Westergaard signed a paper and put it on the side, finally raising his head addressing the man. “Miss— what was your name again?”

“Elsa.”

“Elsa was just leaving.” He didn’t even glance at her. “Talk to the secretary if you want more information about the certifications. That’s all I can do for you.”

He then leaned on the back of his seat, inviting the man to sit on the opposite chair, as if she had never been there. “Yes, Dan. Tell me.”

Elsa didn’t offer him a thank you nor an apology this time. She just gave a small nod and stepped back, her heart hammering in her chest. She was humiliated once again, and all she wanted to do was get out of the place as quickly as possible, but she needed the job. If not now, then maybe next year. She couldn’t rely on Kai forever, and she doubted there was anything else she could do other than skiing. So she ignored the lump in her throat and made her way to the front desk.

The secretary, a woman a few years younger than Westergaard, looked up when Elsa approached her. Her demeanour was serious, but not unkind. At least she seemed willing to talk, unlike her boss.

“He told me to ask you about certifications,” Elsa said, though it sounded more like a question. She wasn’t entirely sure what the certification was and she didn’t expect to get much help either. But the woman nodded regardless and started flipping through a folder.

“You want to look into training?” she asked, when she found the paper she was looking for.

Elsa gave a faint nod and the woman pulled out a folded schedule from the back. “This is the course they offer not far from here, through the regional winter program.

“It’s expensive,” she warned. “And it was full this season, so I'd recommend signing up once you're certain you meet their criteria.”

“Criteria?” Elsa asked, brow furrowing.

She smiled and circled a few things on the paper for her. “What they expect of you. References. Experience. Basic form and technique.” Handing the schedule to Elsa, she continued explaining. “There’s another round in early autumn. You’ll need at least one or two instructors to vouch for you. I recommend talking to people who’ve done it. They’ll give you hints. Help you get ready.”

Elsa hesitated. “Is there anyone you know who has?”

“Every instructor at this resort, darling,” she chuckled.  “But I guess it’d be best to talk to one of the newly certified.”

She held her hand up, asking her to wait a moment and began writing names down in a list. When she was finished, she slid the paper across the desk. “They work here. They’ve joined us in the last two years.”

Elsa reached for it, quickly scanning the list to see if she recognised anyone’s name. To her surprise, she did halfway down the list.

Marshall Hålkesen.

“Is this…?” she wondered out loud, catching the secretary’s attention.

The woman leaned over, glancing quickly where her finger was pointing. “Oh, he’s one of the new ones. A tall, quiet guy. He had been working as a handyman before, but he started as an instructor earlier this season.”

She clicked her tongue after she thought about him for a moment. “He isn’t too cheerful. Always in a mood. I’d ask Bjorg.” Pointing to the name with a pen, she made a small red mark next to it. “Or Dan. He’s with Mr. Westergaard now if you want to wait for him. He works in the office as well as in the trails. He could vouch for you for the training, and here as well.”

Elsa shook her head quickly. Truth be told she wasn’t paying too much attention to her anymore. She had the information she needed, but it no longer mattered. “No, I don’t want to be a bother. I’ll talk to someone later. Thank you.”

Before the woman could say anything else, she walked out the office and towards the main gates. She walked slowly, boots crunching over the muddy snow that still remained in the shadows. Her mind kept going back to the name on the list she was now gripping tightly in her hand.

He never needed the lessons.

It wasn’t anger that settled in her chest. Not exactly. It wasn’t betrayal either, since she barely knew him. But something she didn’t have a name twisted inside of her. An uncomfortable weight that made keeping control a lot harder.

He hadn’t lied to her. Not really. But he’d come back again and again, asking for her help. Letting her explain things. Letting her believe she was teaching him something. He had listened like he needed her instructions, even when he clearly knew what he was doing. 

Strangely enough, it had felt real.

Why pretend? she wondered. And as soon as she asked herself the question, a thought slipped into her mind, quiet and unwelcomed. What if Westergaard —or some other person— sent him? To test her. To see what she could do…

It seemed absurd. Her family had explained to her it wasn’t common nor normal for people to do things like that. But it wouldn’t be the first time someone took their time to observe her. To record what she did and how.

The idea alone sent a shiver down her spine.

She shook her head and tried to get rid of the feeling. A man at the gate may have noticed her discomfort and asked her if she was feeling all right. Unsure of what to say, she apologised and stepped past him before he could speak again.

She walked fast to her cottage, choosing the shorter path, even if it meant going through the forest. On the way she couldn’t stop her mind from drifting back again to Marshall.

He didn’t strike her as someone who would benefit from studying her, nor someone who took orders like that. What was more important, he didn’t seem insensitive in that particular way. He hadn’t pried nor asked personal questions. Not once had he mentioned anything about the cold or snow, other than what was strictly related to the sport.

There was nothing that would suggest he was what she feared. All the same, he had been pretending to be someone he wasn’t. And it hurt more than she wanted to admit. Because she had tried —really tried— to step outside her comfort zone. To talk to someone who wasn’t family. To act normal and build something real, even when she didn’t know what that was supposed to look like.

--

Marshall sat at his usual table while he waited for his friend to meet him. Dan was running late that evening. Still smitten with the Danish girl he had met, his friend was enjoying the extra week he got to spend with her. Dan had already declared her the love of his life —like he had done with many others before—, and Marshall couldn’t do more than laugh and bet how long this one would last. He’d lost the original bet however. He hadn’t expected her to stay an extra week just for his friend, and part of Marshall suspected Dan had paid for her extra nights just to mess with him.

Regardless of his new relationship, Marshall hoped he could make it that night. It wouldn’t take long for Dan to go back to town and he was hoping to see him before it happened. The end of the season meant fewer people around, less work for most, and half the staff were already heading back to town. It was a matter of time until Dan followed suit.

The resort had officially closed the season. Snow was too thin to make the slopes safe anymore, and Westergaard had agreed to wrap it up as the tourists stopped coming. Everyone was pleased with how things had gone. The numbers were good, their performance as a team quite positive, and Marshall in particular had adapted nicely to his new routine.

He hadn't started on the right foot, but in the end, things had taken a surprisingly positive turn. Westergaard had not only offered him a spot for the next season, he had also extended an invitation to stay through the summer as a climbing guide. A position that paid a lot better than simply working as a handyman in the resort. The idea of stability made it easier for him to breathe, and it felt good. Even if it hadn’t been entirely guilt-free, he finally had something to look forward to and he was excited.

All things considered, it had been a good week. One of those rare ones. And all he wanted to do was celebrate with his friend at the bar after so long.

He was grateful Dan had stepped up and helped him. He had made it clear he needed to cut back or risk ending up with a real problem. And truth be told, things had worked out better than he’d expected after he had. He no longer went to the bar on his own, and the few times he drank, he’d stick to just one beer. It hadn’t been easy at first, to the point it had scared him to some extent. But as the days went by, things began to fall into place, and he noticed the difference.

Surprisingly, after the first month, the guilt had started to feel lighter —easier to carry—  and drinking wasn’t the first thing on his mind anymore. Getting Elsa out of his head, however, turned out to be a lot harder.

No more lessons meant no more excuses to see her, no reason to talk, and no way of knowing if she was doing okay.

Truth was, he’d looked for her. On the trails. In the small shops near the resort. He told himself maybe she’d stopped teaching when business dried up. That would have been the smart thing. Perhaps she had done what everyone else did and gone back to town.

Still, more often than not, he caught himself glancing toward the door whenever it opened. Wondering.

Right as if the universe was laughing on his face, the door to the bar opened and a gust  of cold air from the peaks slipped in.

He raised his eyes and then he noticed her. She wasn’t wearing that worn-out jacket anymore, but a bluish cable knit sweater, slightly oversized, like it had once belonged to someone else.

The mood shifted the second she walked in. Not because people noticed her. They rarely did. But because Marshall did. She didn’t belong in bars like this. She moved like she wanted to disappear, always small, always careful, like she’d only come in because she had no other choice.

She stood near the counter, eyes fixed on anything but the people around her, as she waited for her turn. Oaken was too busy to notice her, and Marshall knew it would take a while.

Dan was nowhere to be seen, probably too distracted to even remember he was waiting for him, and so Marshall thought it wouldn’t hurt to try and talk to her. At least keep her company while she waited. He hadn’t even given her a real excuse the last time he’d spoken to her when he cancelled the lesson.

“You, uh… waiting on food?” He winced as soon as the words left his mouth.

He scratched at his beard and closed his eyes, trying to shake the awkwardness off. The answer was painfully obvious.

Elsa looked up. Her eyes flicked in his direction, then dropped to the floor just as fast. The faint smile he was expecting wasn’t there, nor the shy glance that told him she was listening. This time, she pressed her lips. Not a scowl, not quite, but it hit him like a punch to the gut.

He straightened and took a small step forward, careful not to draw attention.

“Elsa?” he tried again. “It’s been a while. I just wanted to say hi.”

Elsa nodded, still not meeting his eyes. She muttered a quiet hi and turned back to the counter. She raised her hand, hoping for Oaken to notice her with no luck as a taller man stepped in front of her.

He heard her huff and the annoyed sound brought a smile to his face. She was not in the mood to wait or chat, and he could relate to that.

“Give me a second,” he said, stepping forward.

He moved the drunk man aside and explained she had been there first. The guy mumbled an apology and stepped back. Marshall gave him a pat on the back before turning to Elsa.

“Can I get you anything?” he tried. “Hot tea? Or—” He hesitated. He had no idea what she liked. “Anything?”

“I ordered some food,” she mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Bjorgman!” Oaken’s voice cut through the room as he slapped a wrapped package on the counter. “Move aside, ya. She ordered first.”

Elsa stepped in, nudging Marshall aside. The action seemed a tad unnecessary, but he figured she just wanted to grab her food and go.

He stayed beside her, feeling a bit awkward under Oaken’s curious stare.

She paid, then slipped away from his side, heading toward the exit with quick steps.

“Hey, wait,” Marshall called after her, a sinking feeling in his chest. She didn’t owe him anything, but he thought they’d ended on better terms. He followed, keeping his pace careful, as not to invade her space.

“Let me…” he said, when he reached the door.

She paused and raised an eyebrow, unsure what he expected of her.

“Let me…” He reached the handle. “I wanted to help you with—” He cleared his throat. “With the door.” Shame crept up his neck. He was grateful his friend hadn’t been there to see him making a fool of himself.

She stared at him blankly. Then her expression shifted. The politeness that characterised her vanished. She narrowed her eyes and walked out of the bar, leaving him utterly dumbfounded.

Marshall stood frozen, breath caught in his throat and heart hammering in his ears. Deep down he knew this had nothing to do with him cancelling the lesson.

“Elsa.” He called after her. “Elsa, wait. Hold up.”

She stopped dead in her tracks. She seemed tense as she turned to him, her jaw clenched. Before he had the chance to ask her what was wrong, she mumbled. 

“What?”

“Fuck off, Marshall,” she repeated quietly, like she didn’t want to be heard but couldn’t stop herself. And just like that, she was gone.

He stood there, holding the door open. The words echoing in his head, sharper than they had any right to be.

--

The bag of food in her hand had started to cool down as her fingers gripped it tighter. She kept her eyes forward, pretending she hadn't heard him call her name.

“Hold up,” Marshall had said.

And she had stopped, surprising even herself. Her teeth clenched, her eyes burned, and her hand holding the bag trembled. Not from the cold, but from the effort of holding back her words, her powers back.

A sudden memory hit her right then and there.

Kristoff, months before, maybe a year. Sitting across from her at the kitchen table, eating leftovers after a particularly long shift at work. They were both still living with their parents back then and she’d stayed up to wait for him.

She had been planning to move to the mountains, but as the date drew nearer, she had begun second-guessing herself. Afraid of what might happen if things got difficult with a client, or with people in general. Afraid she might lose control, or not know how to set boundaries when she needed space.

‘You can just say 'fuck off', you know,’ he had said, mouth full. ‘Seriously. If someone makes you uncomfortable, say it. You don’t need to yell or fight back. Just say it. You don’t owe people anything."

She had laughed at the time. Shaken her head thinking how little he understood. How hard it was for her. How wired into her brain it was to avoid attention, avoid conflict, keep herself small enough to survive.

But he’d been right.

And so, the moment she turned around to face him, the words had slipped. “Fuck off, Marshall.”

She didn’t wait to see his face. She didn’t need to. The weight lifted as soon as it left her lips. A trembling kind of relief. Her feet found the ground with more certainty than before, her strides longer, more confident.

He didn’t follow, and for that she was thankful. She wasn’t sure what to do if he did.

She wasn’t angry anymore, nor afraid. Not really. But she was more guarded now, and still disappointed. Not in him, but in the foolish hope she’d let grow inside her. The one that told her she could belong somewhere outside her family.

--

It was only when a couple asked Marshall to move out of the way that he moved. He blinked, stepped aside, and walked back to the bar. He sat down by the bar this time, the stool creaking beneath him. He leaned on the counter and pressed his palms to his face, dragging them down slowly. The shame was immediate and hot, spreading over his skin.

He should’ve said something. Weeks ago. He should’ve told her from the beginning that he worked for Westergaard. That he’d been stealing parts of her lessons to keep his job. That his job was safe because of her. He should have thanked her and offered her something in exchange. He could have done anything and it would have been better than that mess.

He reached for an empty glass, like he had done so many nights in the past, and waved at Oaken for a drink.

The first four went down fast, bitter. Burning down his throat as it tried to drown the guilt and shame. He kept drinking despite the odd look from Oaken and those around him. At some point during the night, the alcohol pushed the shame down and the guilt began to morph into something different. Something uglier that he knew too well and despised just us much…

Anger and frustration clawed up in its place before he could control it.

She was so good. Better than him. Better than most people he’d seen on a slope. But she couldn’t sell herself to save her damn life. She couldn’t look people in the eye nor string together more than a few words. She couldn’t even hand out a flyer!

Westergaard would’ve kicked him out before he ever had a chance to steal from her if she’d just tried.

And now it was his fault she hadn’t got a chance. Now he was the arsehole.

Did she truly think a few lessons meant she’d make it out there? Did she even ask for help?

The thoughts hit like an avalanche, and he hated every one of them. Hated himself even more for letting them in. But that didn’t make them any less true.

His gaze drifted to the stack of Elsa’s flyers still sitting untouched not far from where he was sitting. A hand-drawn logo, awful handwriting and a vague promise of a ski lesson. Marshall pushed himself off the stool and clumsily grabbed them all. He stared at the crumpled paper in his hand unsure what to do with them.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Oaken’s voice stopped him, a loud warning.

“I’m just—” He tried to find something to say. But there was no reasonable excuse.

Oaken rounded the counter with surprising speed for a man his size. He planted himself in front of him and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.

“You just what?”

Marshall swallowed. The alcohol clouded his thoughts. “She’s not gonna get anywhere with this crap. I was just… trying to fix it?”

“By stealing her flyers?”

Marshall opened his mouth, but no words came out. He wasn’t sure what he had been trying to do. “I— It’s my fault. I did something stupid,” Marshall muttered, stuffing the flyers back on the table with shaky hands. “I messed it up.”

Oaken studied him. Not angry, but no patience left to deal with him either.

“You’re drunk,” he finally said. “And making less sense than usual.”

Dragging Marshall by his collar, he walked him out of the bar. The cold outside slapped him awake, but not enough.

“I don’t know what your mess is with that girl, but you’re not dragging it into my bar.”

Marshall found his eyes. The shame was back, like a weight pulling him down. “I wasn’t—”

“Go home, son,” Oaken said, softer now. “Sleep it off. And maybe stay home for a while, ya?”

Marshall blinked. “You’re kicking me out?”

“I’m telling you to be a man,” Oaken said, walking back to the bar. “Starting with knowing when you’re not welcome somewhere.”

The finality in his tone hit harder than it should have. Marshall stood still, wondering how he had managed to let things get to that point.

He walked back home in silence. The taste of alcohol in his mouth and Elsa’s voice still ringing in his head.

--

I’m glad I decided to divide chapter 4 into two chapters, it allowed me to explore a bit more the characters’ inner thoughts.

I’m having a lot of fun writing this and I hope you guys are enjoying it as well.

Don’t forget to share your thoughts! They always make my day!

He didn’t tell Dan, nor the guys at the resort for that matter. After all, the only reason he decided to call was to save his arse; he wasn't proud of himself.

Westergaard was hiring. It was no longer a fleeting comment going around. The owner had seen a few candidates that week, and it was only a matter of time before he got tired of the complaints and hired whoever happened to walk through the door. So far three people had shown up. Dan didn’t know the first two, but he did recognise Elsa. She was the third to walk into the office. Her interview hadn’t lasted long —for what Dan had told him— but she was the only one who actually lived near the resort.

The idea of booking a class had crossed his mind as soon as Dan told him. Though at first, he didn’t give it much thought. Partly because he felt guilty about only wanting to see how good she really was, and partly because he wasn’t sure how useful the information would be. Even as he waited for Elsa to pick up, he kept thinking about hanging up. Despite his past mistakes, he liked to think he still had some decency left in him.

Elsa answered before he could make up his mind, and before he knew it, he had booked a single private lesson.

He didn’t mention the free lesson advertised on the flyer. If he was going to take advantage of her goodwill, the least he could do was pay her full fee. The rate was cheap. Meant to secure some work rather than charge what a professional lesson was worth. And the more he thought about it, the more he despised the man he was becoming. His grandfather would’ve been disappointed in him, no doubt. But then again, he was running out of options.

--

The following morning, he made his way to the slope she had chosen. It was far from the main runs and the main one near the resort —beyond a deep forest and above the cliff. It wasn’t easy to access, and Marshall doubted any amateur would willingly hike that far with so many easier options available.

The place was quiet. No tourists, no chatter, no signs of life. Realizing this made him both relax and wonder if she actually knew what she was doing.  Maybe he was overthinking and his doubts were unfounded. And perhaps booking a lesson to see what he was competing against wasn't worth the trouble. Despite the problems he'd been causing Westergaard, he knew the man wouldn’t hire someone unfit for the job.

He arrived over half an hour earlier, wanting to see the way she prepared for the lesson. He stood among the trees, away from the trail that led to the base of the slope and waited.

Elsa arrived ten minutes early. On foot. Completely alone.

Part of him wanted to warn her about the risks of meeting a strange man in the middle of nowhere. After all, she’d only asked for a name over the phone. Nothing else. It unsettled him more than he would've expected. Was someone aware she’d come all the way there to meet him? She wore no ski school coat nor ID badge. There was nothing to testify to her credentials —if she even had any— or that there was someone else working with her. She was by herself with that same beat-up jacket, a backpack and some old ski equipment.

Marshall sighed as he rubbed a hand over his face, he was regretting his decision already. Not only for wasting his time, but Elsa’s as well.

He watched as she ordered her own gear and equipment. She was quiet and efficient as she straightened the poles and set the skis. She was focused and methodical. Maybe a little tense, for some unknown reason.

She’d brought along extra skis and snow boots. It was a small detail that caught his attention. She’d asked for his boot size over the phone, but he hadn’t thought much about it at the time, especially since he’d told her he’d bring his own equipment. Yet, here she was, ensuring there was extra gear for them both. That detail alone was more than he had ever done for his own students. It rubbed him the wrong way, like she was more put-together than he was.

After a few minutes, he checked his watch and realised it was time for the lesson to start. He didn’t say a word though, and instead decided to stay where he was, leaning on a tree, arms crossed, simply watching.

She started warming up, stretching her arms and legs. Only checking the time sporadically.

He didn’t show up on time, but she waited. Ten minutes, then twenty. She stayed way past the half hour. As he watched her organise her things for a third time, he tried to put himself in her shoes for a moment. He realised then that he wouldn't have waited more than fifteen minutes. He would have already left, swearing like a sailor, making his way to Westergaard’s office to cross the client out of his list. One more thing she'd do differently.

She paced. Checked the time. Rechecked the trail. And when he was certain she was ready to leave, she sat down. Arms wrapped around her knees.

Marshall saw her try to keep it together, but he also saw the moment her hands balled into fists, the moment her breath caught in her throat. He didn't need to know her to understand her disappointment. After an hour, when it began to snow slowly, she packed up her things and left, the backpack hanging heavily on her shoulders.

He didn’t call after her. He didn’t follow. He simply stood there like an idiot, having wasted both their times.

--

That night he didn’t meet Dan at the bar. Still, he managed to drink one too many beers and he ended up calling her again.

She answered, despite how late it was. From the sound of her voice, he could tell she wasn’t pleased, but she remained as polite as the day before. That, more than anything, threw him off. He had stood her up on a cold, snowy morning, and now he was calling to reschedule like it was nothing. He wouldn’t have been half as patient in her place.

He tried to come up with an excuse, a task harder than usual with the alcohol dulling his thoughts. Eventually he managed to convince her by promising to pay for the lesson he’d missed.

After he hung up, he sat in silence, wondering why he kept insisting. He told himself it was about paying her what he owed. But the truth was, he wasn’t sure what else she might do differently. What else she might be quietly getting right. And he didn’t want to take any chances.

The second lesson was scheduled for the following morning. Boots crunching against the snow, Marshall paced the same spot where Elsa had waited for him the day before. A light snow storm had painted the landscape in white once more, the trees in the distance now barely recognisable. The cold chilled his bones, yet he stayed, waiting for her.

Just like before, Elsa arrived ten minutes before the lesson.

She approached him without a word, dropped her things between them, then crossed her arms and finally spoke. “You’re not late.”

Marshall used the moment to study her more closely. She wore the same thin jacket. The mere thought of being out here so inadequately dressed made him wince. Her cheeks were red from the wind, still she didn’t seem to mind. The shadows under her eyes suggested she hadn’t slept much, yet her gaze still carried a distinct shine. There was a spark, some eagerness or energy he couldn’t name, let alone share.

Adjusting his gloves, he avoided her eyes and gave her a half-shrug. “Didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

That earned him a dry look, but no reply. She didn’t ask why he hadn’t come the first time. She simply pointed at the slope and gestured for him to follow her.

“How much experience?” she asked, only when they were high enough for a simple descent.

“Enough,” he replied. “I’ve lived here my whole life. I’m not a tourist.”

That got her attention. She turned around to make sure he was being serious. “So… why the lesson?”

“I want to improve,” Marshall said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

She studied him for a moment. She must’ve sensed something was off, but she didn’t press. Instead, she nodded once and began her lesson.

“We’ll start with short turns. I want to see how you handle picking up the pace and slowing down.”

Marshall raised his eyebrows, surprised not only by Elsa’s straightforwardness but also by how easily she had trusted his word. He would’ve tested his own clients before starting a lesson, just to make sure they actually knew what they claimed. He wasn’t sure what was the best approach, but he couldn’t say he was displeased with hers.

Not wasting any more time, he did what she asked. Not to impress her —at least not on purpose— but to give her something to start with. When he came to a stop at the base,  he turned around and noticed her watching him, her expression unreadable from a distance. She slid down after him, stopping smoothly beside him.

“You’re using your hips too much. That’s why you’re catching the inside edge. Try using your core more, and keep your movements smaller. Don’t overdo it.”

Marshall stiffened. “Overdoing it?”

“You're trying to look like you know what you’re doing,” she said, tone calm and surprisingly kind. “But that’s not the same as doing it right.”

He stared at her, unsure of how to take her words. He didn’t want to admit it, but part of him wondered if she was right. He had been trying to make himself look better than he felt —an old habit that had only gotten worse in the last year. But he hadn’t meant to show off.

She stepped in front of him and, patiently, she demonstrated what she meant. Her voice didn’t waver, not even when he rolled his eyes and threw a sarcastic comment. She didn’t back up nor was she condescending. She simply taught what she thought was missing and treated him with the same kindness as before.

She showed him how to position his feet in a slightly different way. And then he tried again. And again. Until he understood exactly what she meant. When he turned around to see her reaction, she was already skiing down towards him. This time, she offered a small smile and gave him a simple nod.

“Better,” she said. “You’re more centered. Less effort for the same result.

Despite knowing she was right, and having actually improved at something he already knew, he felt frustrated. With her or with himself, he wasn’t sure.

Deep down he wanted to see what else he was doing wrong. Where else he was wasting his energy. Though he was still too busy thinking about how easily she’d slipped into the instructor role. How clearly she explained things. How much she understood the ground, the snow, the steepness. She knew how to break it down, how to deliver it in pieces that actually made sense. It was simple, and it worked. And more importantly, she didn't look like she was trying to prove anything to him. She just wanted to help him get it right.

Something twisted in his chest. It wasn't admiration, it wasn't envy either. Something strange in between.

He didn’t say much for the rest of the session. Just watched. Listened. Took in the little things: The way she paused to give him space when he got frustrated, the way she never raised her voice, the way she adjusted her pace according to the snow at her feet.

She was everything he wasn’t. And it scared the hell out of him.

“Who taught you?” he asked, still trying to catch his breath after two hours going up and down the slope. The things she could achieve in a single lesson if only she had access to a proper slope with rope tows or ski lifts.

Elsa hesitated for a moment, avoiding his eyes in the process. “My family.”

Marshall gave a small nod, not really buying it. The way she moved in the snow told a different story after all.

It was also strange how she managed to be so sure of herself when she was delivering her lesson. And so hesitant the second their conversation drifted to something other than the skis, the slope or the snow. She was quiet, distant in a completely different way than he was, and awkward when she wasn’t teaching. But as soon as their focus returned to the lesson, she became somebody else.

He wanted to transform like that. To manage his emotions and conceal everything in order to teach the way she did. It was easy to listen to. Easy to follow… Exactly what Westergaard needed.

After the lesson, they didn’t linger. He paid in cash, both classes, despite Elsa insisting it wasn't necessary. Only when he made it clear he wouldn’t book another lesson unless she took the money did she finally accept. She thanked him politely and slipped away before he could say anything else.

That night he didn’t sleep much. He stayed awake doodling and writing everything he could remember from the lesson in an old notebook.

--

The next morning, while the slopes were still wrapped in early fog, he walked into Westergaard’s office. There was a stiffness in his chest. And no matter how many times the voice at the back of his head told him the reason, he kept ignoring it.

As soon as Westergaard asked him what he wanted, he began telling him about restructuring his lessons. He needed smaller groups and less pressure, to allow for a more personal, deliberate approach. He remembered using the words “personal,” “deliberate,” —as if saying them out loud would somehow make the idea his own.

Westergaard didn’t even lift his eyes from the paperwork. “That’s not your usual style.”

“I want to adapt,” Marshall replied honestly. “Not everyone responds to drills. Perhaps the clients would appreciate a different method.”

Westergaard gave a slow nod. “We’ve been getting some complaints. I’m willing to let you try, but don’t waste this chance I’m giving you.”

Marshall nodded, knowing exactly what it meant. If things didn’t improve, he’d be out of the resort before the season was over.

He left the office with an ache in his stomach. He wanted to convince himself he was just nervous, as well as eager to try something different. But deep down he knew it had nothing to do with it.

That very same day he booked a new lesson.

It started with that third lesson, and then he couldn’t stop.

Elsa didn’t question it at first. There were tourists who stuck around too long, locals who spent their winters learning a new skill. Marshall wasn’t either of those things, but still she was happy to have someone booking lessons.

For his part, Marshall felt like a fraud every time he walked away. He kept insisting he just wanted to move better. To have more control on the ice. But he took advantage of her lessons in a way no-one else did. He asked too many questions. The kind people asked only if they were either very serious about learning or very lost.

Every quiet afternoon spent skiing with her gave him something new to bring back to his lessons: a phrase, a gesture, an easy enough drill. Things that worked. Things clients noticed.

Westergaard noticed too. “Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it,” he told Marshall one morning. And so he did. He couldn’t afford not to.

As long as Elsa didn’t ask questions, he’d keep doing it. She didn’t even seem to realize how much he was taking. But the guilt had started to settle in. Silent and sharp, like cold biting underneath his skin.

--

Okay… I’m both eager and nervous to see the reactions this chapter gets. If there weren’t countered opinions about Marshall already, I came up with this.

Funny thing, Marshall wasn’t supposed to stand Elsa up in the first lesson. But after a student of my own stood me up, I used that hour I had to waste to write, including that small detail. Don’t stand teachers up. Let them know you won’t be able to make it.

This message is part of the “Teachers are people too” movement. lol

I hope you have fun reading. Depending on the way people react to this, I might continue with this or Søsken. We’ll see. I wrote another scene for chapter 56 btw. I’m working on it, I promise. That’s why I haven’t been answering your comments lately. There are only so many words I can come up with in a week apparently.