The flight was smooth.
Too quiet.
The turbines hummed steadily, the air conditioning blew cool air through the cabin, and outside, below them, the darkness of the Alps lay like a black carpet. Martina sat by the window, her forehead pressed against the cool glass, staring into the void.
Julia sat beside her. Her eyes were closed, but she wasn't asleep. Her fingers drummed a light, irregular rhythm on the armrest – an old sign of tension that Martina had known since childhood.
"Mom," Martina said softly.
Julia opened her eyes. "Yes?"
"I have something to tell you."
Julia turned her head. Her gaze was calm, but her eyes—her eyes were alert. She knew something was coming. Perhaps she had known it all along.
“I’ve seen him before,” said Martina. “In the simulation. Before we escaped.”
Julia frowned. "Who?"
"The doppelganger. He was there—in the simulation. He spoke to me. He told me we had to escape. That InSim would find us. That a black Mercedes would come." She paused. "He knew everything."
Julia remained silent. The turbines hummed.
“He said something,” Martina continued. “Something strange. He said that in another reality he could be my father.”
The words hung in the air. The air conditioner was blowing. Outside, the clouds drifted by – white patches in the black of the night.
“That’s not possible,” Julia finally said. But her voice didn’t sound convinced. More like someone saying something out loud to believe it themselves.
“I know,” said Martina. “But he looks like Dad. Only younger. Much younger. And he knows things that only Dad could know – or someone very close to him.”
"Maybe he's a son," Julia said.
Martina froze. "What?"
"A son. He had a life before the Collegium. Before me. Perhaps – perhaps there is someone we know nothing about."
Martina shook her head. "That wouldn't be him then. A son would be younger – but not that much younger. He'd perhaps be in his mid-twenties. But this man – he's around thirty. That doesn't fit."
“Then maybe he’s something else,” Julia said. “Something we don’t understand.”
They remained silent.
Martina thought about the many-worlds interpretation. About what Michael had told her as a child. Every decision divides the world. And all worlds exist simultaneously – side by side, on top of each other, intertwined.
She had never fully understood it. But now – now she was beginning to suspect what it might mean.
In another world, she thought, my father would have decided differently. In another world, he would have stayed with my mother. In another world, I would have grown up differently—or perhaps not been born at all.
And in one of these worlds there is a Michael who has stayed young. Or who has never grown old. Or who –
She paused. Her thoughts raced.
"What if it's true?" she said aloud. "What if there really are other worlds? And he—he's simply another Michael? Not my father, but not not my father either?"
Julia looked at her. "I don't understand."
“Me neither,” said Martina. “But maybe I don’t have to understand it. Maybe it’s enough to know that he saved us. That he’s on our side.”
"How do you know that?"
“Because he could have acted differently. He could have abandoned us. He could have collaborated with InSim. But he warned us. He sent us the Mercedes. He organized the plane.” Martina looked at her mother. “These aren’t the actions of an enemy.”
Julia was silent for a long moment. Then she said: "Maybe you're right. Maybe where someone comes from isn't important. Maybe all that matters is what he does."
"That sounds very wise," said Martina.
“That sounds like a mother who’s too tired to think any further,” Julia said. But she smiled. It was a tired smile, but a genuine one.
The flight lasted one and a half hours.
Martina didn't sleep. She stared out of the window, watching the lights of German cities appear below – Frankfurt, then a smaller town whose name she didn't recognize, then rural areas where the darkness was almost complete.
The monastery was somewhere down there. Safety awaited them somewhere down there – or what they perceived as such.
She thought of Michael. The real Michael – the one who was in Rome, who knew nothing of her escape, who was perhaps sitting in his office at the Gregorian University, waiting for a message that never came.
Soon, she thought. Soon I'll call him.
But not now. First they had to arrive.
"We'll be landing in ten minutes," the pilot said over the intercom. His voice was calm, almost bored – as if flying two women to Germany in a private plane at night were the most normal thing in the world.
"Who is that?" asked Julia. "The pilot?"
“I have no idea,” said Martina. “But he works for the doppelganger. That’s enough for me.”
The descent began. Martin's stomach clenched—not because of the flight itself, but because of what awaited them below. A monastery. Nuns. Silence. And the question of how long they could stay there before InSim found them again.
The plane touched down. Gently. Almost silently. The wheels squeaked briefly, then they rolled across the dark runway.
"Welcome to Germany," said the pilot. "Please disembark via the rear stairs. A car is waiting."
Martina helped her mother down the stairs.
The night air was cold – much colder than in Italy. The wind blew in their faces, smelling of grass and damp earth. No sea. No lemon trees. Only fields as far as the eye could see.
A black car was parked on the tarmac. Not a Mercedes this time – an inconspicuous VW, gray, with tinted windows. The driver got out. A man in civilian clothes, who wasn't smiling.
“Julia Rossi? Martina Rossi?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Martina.
"Get in. I'll take you to the monastery."
They got in. The car started moving. The airport lights disappeared behind them.
Martina looked back. The plane was still on the tarmac, dark and silent. Soon it would take off again – back to Italy, back into the night from which they had come.
She didn't know who the pilot was. She didn't know who had paid for the car. She didn't know if the doppelganger was really on her side or if he was just playing a more elaborate game.
But she knew she had no other choice.
She leaned back and closed her eyes.