The Directive

    The sky over Munich held the color of tarnished metal, a low, oppressive gray that pressed against the windows of the Regional Archive. Catrina stood at her desk, the morning’s correspondence spread before her in uneven stacks. Most of it was routine—requests for access, inquiries about land transfers, the usual bureaucratic noise that filled her days.

    But one envelope lay apart from the rest, its seal cracked, its contents read and reread until the edges had softened beneath her fingers.

    Falkenhof.

    The name carried a weight she could not ignore. Not grandeur like Schwendstein, but something older, quieter, and wounded. A monastery reduced to ruin, its archives burned, its history fractured into ash and rumor. And now, after decades of silence, the diocese wanted an independent investigation.

    Her supervisor’s words echoed in her mind.

        “Your expertise with damaged records is uniquely suited to this case. And after Schwendstein… you’ve proven you can handle sensitive material.”

    Sensitive. That was one word for it.

    She closed the file and reached for her coat. She already knew she couldn’t do this alone. Not because she doubted her skill, but because Falkenhof felt like another place where truth had been buried deliberately. And she had learned the hard way that such places rarely surrendered their secrets without resistance.

    She dialed Markus.

    He answered on the second ring.

        “Catrina.”

    His voice carried the same steady calm she remembered—the tone of someone who had seen too much but refused to let it harden him. She felt a small, unexpected relief.

        “I need your help,” she said.

    A pause. Not hesitation—calculation.

        “What’s happened.”

        “An assignment. Officially, it’s a historical review. Unofficially…” She glanced at the Falkenhof file. “It’s another silence. A deliberate one.”

        “Where.”

        “Near Augsburg. A ruined monastery. The archives burned decades ago, but the diocese believes something survived. They want a full reconstruction. And there are inconsistencies in the testimonies from the time of the fire.”

    Another pause. She could almost hear him shifting into investigative mode.

        “You think it wasn’t an accident.”

        “I think someone wanted the records gone,” she said. “And I think the truth is still there—in fragments. But I can’t do this without you.”

    Markus exhaled, a quiet sound that carried both weariness and resolve.

        “We said we’d take a break after Schwendstein.”

        “I know.”

        “And we meant it.”

        “I know.”

    Another breath.

        “But you wouldn’t have called unless it mattered.”

        “It does,” she said softly...

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