Vivian's breath came in shallow bursts, fogging the cool metal of the lock pick set she tightly gripped in her hands. The alleyway behind her was silent except for the distant echoes of Brussels in the morning. She’d only visited the city once before during her thieving years and it had been a brief encounter. This visit would be even briefer, as her plan was to get in, get what she needed, and get out.
She crouched before the old, wooden door, encased in a brick wall. The alley wasn’t exactly hidden from view from the street, but it was shrouded in shadows—a place no one would ever visit unless they had a very specific reason for doing so. The alley and the door itself would have been easily overlooked by any passerby. Despite the isolation, the tension in her fingers mirrored the feeling knotting her stomach as she worked with a deft precision born from years of skirting the law.
"Come on," she whispered to herself, coaxing the stubborn lock. It was an old-fashioned tumbler design, tricky but not beyond her capabilities. Vivian could feel the tell-tale click just out of reach, the tiny metal pins inside resisting her. Her jaw set in irritation as she felt the seconds slip by; each second lost could mean the difference between reuniting with Olivia or losing her again. And she got the feeling that if she lost her again, that would be it. No more chances.
The lock finally yielded with a muted snick, and Vivian paused, collecting herself. Pushing open the door, she stepped into a darkened room. There was a single light bulb hanging from a frayed wire in the ceiling, but it was turned off. She tried the light switch to the right of the doorway, but the light did not respond. She assumed this forgotten space hadn’t had electricity running to it for quite some time.
She stood still for a heartbeat, allowing her eyes to adjust to the scant light from the opened door behind her. She then closed the door and took out the small flashlight—the same one she sometimes used during her work as an INTERPOL agent. She scanned the room slowly, her mind racing, listing details and questions to be asked.
This had been Olivia's base, a hub from which she conducted her affairs with the same careful planning that Vivian herself had once employed. It was here, amid the clutter of a criminal's lair, that Vivian hoped to find answers—or at the very least, a sign of her sister's presence. Her own investigations, driven by a mix of guilt and familial obligation, had led her to this hidden room. Every lead, every hushed conversation, and every scrap of information had funneled down to this singular point in time. Most of it had come through the help of a man named Nils.
She did not know Nils personally, did not even know his last name, or for that matter, if Nils was actually his real name. All she knew was that he was a retired INTERPOL agent that had secretly been sent to her by Director Garnett as a means to help her find her sister. Nils himself had offered no details about his own past which, she supposed, was smart for a man with his former job. All she knew for sure was that he was very diligent about his work and that he had, on occasion, a very dry and British sort of humor.
As she looked around the space, one of the first bits of information Nils had ever given her whispered through her head like a rogue wind: "Olivia is no longer Olivia. She goes by Rose Waters now…she does some freelance research work, mostly for security firms. Undercover investigations, background checks... the sort that requires a keen eye and anonymity.”
She wondered if those jobs had been legitimate or just a cover for her criminal activities. She had so many questions, and it hurt even more to know that her sister didn’t want to see her—to discuss the skewed paths that had led her down such a strange and unpredictable road.
But Vivian had decided that she was done playing the passive role in this twisted reunion. She would drag Olivia back, if she had to, away from the shadows that had already engulfed her and her father.
Stepping further into the room, Vivian used her flashlight to scan the cramped quarters. But there was nothing there. The place had been emptied out; from the absence of dust and cobwebs, she imagined it had been very recent. All the same, the air carried a musty scent, a blend of old leather and the metallic tang of keys long unused.
She supposed the space had been meant as a studio of some kind in the past, and Vivian saw that the room wasn’t totally empty. In the far corner, there was a Grecian vase adorned with shapes and patterns. It looked deceptively authentic, but Vivian could tell simply by the way her flashlight beam reflected off it that it was a fake.
The sight was a mirror to Vivian's own past—a tableau of crimes she knew all too well. Her heart constricted with the familiar ache of disappointment, but beneath it stirred sisterly protection. Olivia, once the beacon of innocence in their family, had slipped into the same darkness that Vivian had fought so hard to escape.
Vivian sucked in a breath, battling the swell of emotions that clashed within her—a tempest of sorrow, regret, and a relentless urge to save her sister from this life. She could almost hear Olivia's youthful laughter, echoing from a time untouched by their father's tainted legacy, a reminder of what they both had lost.
She closed her eyes briefly, allowing herself a moment of grief. Vivian remembered the thrill of the heist, the creativity in finding new ways to dodge the law and security systems. It was a life she had excelled in, yet she had forcefully been pulled from it thanks to the deal she’d made with Garnett: her freedom for a career with INTERPOL. And now it seemed that Olivia was caught in the very web Vivian had sought to dismantle.
Vivian supposed that if she ever wanted to truly reunite with Olivia again and not have her walk away like last time, she needed to understand the depths of Olivia's descent—to uncover the reasons behind her sister's transition to a life of crime after having railed against it for so long and for turning away from her family when they’d succumbed to the same sins. It had been nearly two weeks since Olivia had walked away from Vivian as she confronted her in Geneva. But the harsh sting of her sister’s rejection made it feel as if it had happened just yesterday.
Vivian walked tentatively toward the vase. It was odd that it had been left behind, such a sizable item remaining in the shadows. It almost seemed as if it had been intentionally placed there.
Maybe…
Vivian reached out and took the large vase by its mouth at the top. She shined her light down into it, and sure enough, there was something inside. She tipped the vase, holding it upside down, and gave it a shake. A small piece of paper, folded multiple times and bound with a rubber band, fell out onto the concrete floor.
Setting the vase aside, Vivian unfolded the paper. Her heart skipped a beat when she realized it was a letter from Olivia. She sank to her knees on the floor and read the note by her flashlight.
Viv,
After you found me in Geneva and because you now know what I've been up to, I figured you wouldn't stop. I knew you'd find this place eventually. You always were the one to dig up what should remain buried. But don't think for a second that means I want your help. Let's not pretend we're the sisters we once were. Too much has changed—too much has been broken. You're a different person, and so am I. Maybe it's best if we just go back to how it's been. It was good seeing you, and I'll always love you, sis.
Yours,
Liv
A dull ache settled in Vivian's heart, the lingering hope she harbored for reconciliation withering away. The finality in Olivia's words were unmistakable, yet Vivian couldn't let go, not when so much remained unsaid, so much unresolved. Holding a letter her sister had written to her after their tense meeting two weeks ago only stoked the fires.
She felt tears stinging her eyes, but she closed her eyes against them, determined not to weep over this. It hurt, of course, but there was anger there, too. After all, Olivia had always accused her of being so stubborn…well, who was the stubborn one now?
The emotions battled inside of her as her eyes trailed back to the beginning of the letter. She’d only gotten a single line into it before her phone rang in her pocket. It spooked her in the dim silence of the gloomy space, causing her to jump a bit. With the stillness shattered, she grabbed her phone from her pocket.
The caller display read STERLING. She hated feeling annoyed that her partner would call now, of all times, but she also knew that he usually didn’t call her unless there was a good reason for it. Still holding Olivia’s letter in her hand, she answered.
“Hey, Sterling.”
“Hey. Are you home?”
She almost chuckled but bit it back. “No. Why?”
“Garnett wants us on a case. A strange murder case, or so it seems, and it looks like it’s linked to another one from a week ago. Also, the victim was a pretty big deal in the art world. In other words, this could be a big one.”
“Who is it?”
“Elena Rivera. Sound familiar?”
“No…no, I don’t think so.”
The world around her narrowed to the sound of Sterling's voice. She did her best to push the details of Olivia's situation out of her head, doing what she could to flip the switch and orient herself into her INTERPOL duties.
“In Lyon?” she asked.
“Yeah. Well, just outside of Lyon.”
“Sterling, I..." She trailed off, struggling to anchor herself to the present. She was in Brussels, a little less than two hours away from Lyon by train and whatever crime scene awaited them.
"Vivian, are you there?" Sterling's voice prodded, pulling her from the burgeoning maelstrom of speculation.
"Here," she managed, her voice steadier than she felt. "I'm here. Well, not in Lyon. Not there."
She looked at the fake vase as she re-folded the letter from Olivia. She shoved it into her pocket, determined to shove it all aside so she could focus on the case.
“Where are you?”
“Brussels.” She didn’t see the point in lying to him. He knew most of the story, anyway about Olivia, about her father’s sordid history.
“Brussels? What for? Are you—” But he stopped there, his voice filled with an unspoken understanding.
“Is it about your sister?” There was no judgement, just curiosity and concern.
“Yes. But it was a big bust. Nothing to see.”
A sigh rumbled through the phone. "I see. Look, if Garnett asks, I'll cover for you. But you have to come. Just get here when you can."
With one last look around the studio space that had once served as her sister’s hideaway, Vivian started back for the door she’d forced open less than ten minutes ago.
"Thanks, Sterling," she said, a sliver of gratitude balancing the tumult within. “I’m on my way to the train station right now.”
Hanging up, Vivian made her way back out into the alley, closing the door on the hidden studio space—and, perhaps, Olivia—for good.