I walked to the window.

  It was already getting dark outside. I had always felt anxious at that hour. Without a reason. Or perhaps there was one—I just couldn’t remember it.

  At first, I thought I had imagined it.

  Something blurred shifted farther down the street—not a figure, not a shadow, but movement. Unclear. Trembling. I narrowed my eyes and didn’t look away.

  It was approaching.

  And becoming clearer.

  They were bubbles.

  Three enormous, nearly perfect spheres drifting slowly above the ground. They did not reflect the streetlights—they seemed to swallow the light instead. Something was inside them. All three. In one I could make out silhouettes—blurred, alive. But the other two were completely filled with something… solid. Dense.

  My breath caught.

  I saw several figures step out of the house across the street—too quickly, almost in a jerked motion.

  Pteroseruses.

  Their movements were precise, synchronized. In seconds they reached the first bubble, lifted it, and carried it toward Phil’s house.

  To the door itself.

  The bubble began to deflate right there—slowly, obediently, as if it knew exactly what to do. Several figures stepped out and entered the house. Everything happened fast and soundlessly.

  The air seemed to tremble.

  I felt the tension on my skin, even though it was warm inside.

  And then I saw Charlie.

  He was walking down the street at an ordinary pace, straight toward the bubbles. My heart dropped.

  “No…” I whispered. “Don’t look…”

  The Pteroseruses reacted instantly.

  The remaining two bubbles shifted sharply—almost soundlessly—to the side and disappeared behind Phil’s house, into the garden. As if summoned there.

  Charlie kept walking.

  He stared straight ahead.

  And saw nothing.

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  For him, the street was empty. Snow. Silence. Streetlights. He walked exactly along the line where the bubbles had been seconds before and didn’t even slow down.

  I exhaled only when he passed someone else.

  Alexander.

  He appeared abruptly, as if from thin air. In his hands he carried something bulky, covered in cloth. He and Charlie exchanged a brief greeting.

  Nothing strange.

  Nothing suspicious.

  Then Alexander turned toward Phil’s house.

  Quickly.

  Purposefully.

  I stepped back from the window and pressed my palm to my chest.

  He turned toward the backyard and vanished from view.

  I stood there a few seconds longer.

  “What was that?.. Who was in the bubble? Guests?” I whispered into the empty room.

  I checked the clock.

  6:00 PM.

  “Oh…” I breathed.

  Evening. Christmas evening. Dinner.

  A delayed resistance washed over me. I was afraid to go. Truly afraid. Not panic—deeper. The kind of fear that comes when you understand you cannot return to your previous version of reality.

  But the thought that Alexander would be there acted almost physically. Like an anchor. A point of gravity.

  “Fine,” I told myself. “Just get dressed. One step at a time.”

  I rushed to the bedroom, flung open the wardrobe, and almost immediately found it—the pale blue dress with sequins. It lay neatly, as if waiting for this exact evening. I slipped it on without looking in the mirror, fastening the zipper by touch.

  At that moment, the doorbell rang.

  I flinched so hard my heart dropped.

  I looked at the clock.

  6:10 PM.

  “A little early…” I murmured.

  I went to the window and cautiously looked out.

  Alexander stood at the door.

  He raised his hand and waved—calmly, humanly, with that familiar smile that always appeared when he saw me.

  And still—for a fraction of a second—something inside tightened.

  What if it wasn’t him?

  What if it was a Grun?

  What if it had learned to look exactly like this—perfect?

  The thoughts flashed sharp and painful.

  But I remembered his words. The reinforced protection. The dome. My house.

  Pi-Pu was sleeping quietly and didn’t even approach the door.

  “I hope you’re the real Alexander,” I whispered, exhaling.

  I opened the door.

  He saw me—and froze.

  Right there on the threshold. As if someone had pressed pause for a second.

  He was smiling—but not his usual polite smile. Something softer. Open. A warmth in his eyes that instantly disrupted my internal rhythm.

  He stepped inside silently.

  Closed the door.

  And never once looked away from me.

  Suddenly I felt awkward. I found myself adjusting the edge of my dress as if I were sixteen again and didn’t know what to do with my hands.

  A second passed. Or two. Or eternity.

  Then he exhaled quietly and said:

  “You look very beautiful.”

  I tried to respond, but he added quickly, with a faint smile as if anticipating my dismissal:

  “I mean… you’re always beautiful. Of course.”

  He stepped closer.

  “But in this dress—especially.”

  There was no playfulness. No exaggeration. He spoke as if stating an obvious fact.

  Warmth spread through me—not from the compliment, but from the one who said it.

  “Thank you,” I finally managed. “You… look good too.”

  It sounded simple. Almost foolish. But he smiled even wider.

  Then I remembered what I had seen.

  The bubbles.

  The movement.

  The cold that had crawled across my skin.

  “Alexander…” I said quietly. “I saw them. Through the window. Those… bubbles. What was that?”

  He didn’t pretend not to understand.

  He paused briefly, as if deciding how much to tell me—and answered.

  “We had to evacuate the entire Nesting urgently,” he said. “Everyone. And everything.”

  Something tightened inside me.

  “There was a Grun attack,” he continued. “Serious. There are too many people there now, too many homes and apartments… the protection no longer holds at maximum capacity. Before—it did. But now…”

  He frowned.

  “Now the Gruns are becoming stronger. We don’t yet understand exactly why. But it’s a fact.”

  “Here, on Violet Street, we currently maintain the strongest dome we can,” Alexander said. “A serus from the north… very old. Very powerful. He transferred a special substance that reinforces protection where the dome has been breached. It possesses intelligence. Not in our sense—but it senses threat. It adapts. It strengthens protection exactly where it’s needed.”

  He paused.

  “Who was in the bubble?” I asked, though I already knew. “The Lactimol?”

  He didn’t hesitate.

  “Yes,” he said. “The ancient Lactimol Bezos. And his mother, Salma.”

  He said it carefully, as if even the words might cause harm.

  “They are too weak,” he continued. “The transfer was risky. But we had no choice. We transported them in Bulbe. It’s the only way.”

  “They’re safe now?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer immediately.

  “Safer,” he said at last.

  And the way he said safer sounded like even he didn’t fully believe it.

  “I heard,” I said quietly. “Frau Schwarzenegger… screaming that someone had been killed.”

  Alexander stopped.

  He looked at me—long, carefully. Then exhaled slowly.

  “Molly,” he said gently, though with that note that hides a decision. “It’s Christmas. A holiday evening. Dinner.”

  He tilted his head slightly. “Let’s spend it calmly.”

  I wanted to object, but he continued:

  “There’s a great deal of work ahead. A great deal.”

  Pause.

  “And I’m asking you… allow me not to talk about it anymore tonight.”

  I nodded.

  Sometimes silence is a form of trust.