Venice, 1652 — When Witness Meets Sanctuary
They did not meet in a hall.
They did not meet in the Palace.
They did not meet in ceremony.
They met in a small courtyard where a fig tree leaned against a wall as though it had decided to listen more than it wished to grow.
Anja Weiss arrived first.
She stood near the stone well, hands folded at her waist, eyes lifted to the leaves that trembled in a breeze too gentle to claim responsibility for movement. Fog lingered at the edges of the courtyard, not intruding, not retreating—present in the way a thought remained present even after one stopped thinking it.
She had not been told who would come.
Only where.
That felt deliberate.
She heard footsteps.
Not hurried.
Not cautious.
Simply… aware.
Elena entered the courtyard first, her pace steady, her gaze attentive without being interrogative. Kessel followed a step behind, posture careful in the way of a man who had spent too long guarding things that did not belong to him. Chiara lingered near the archway, arms folded loosely, watching the space rather than the people. Matteo trailed last, pretending he was not already trying to measure everyone's mood with the earnestness of someone who feared saying the wrong thing more than saying nothing.
And then Jakob.
He walked between Elena and Kessel, not holding either hand, but close enough to feel the gravity of both.
Anja's breath caught—not in shock, not in awe.
In recognition.
This was the center.
Not the boy.
The situation around him.
She did not bow.
She did not step forward.
She simply stood, allowing the moment to exist before she attempted to place herself inside it.
Elena spoke first.
"Anja Weiss," she said gently. "I'm Elena."
Anja nodded.
"I know," she replied. "Not your name. Your… presence."
Elena smiled faintly.
"That's new."
Anja looked at Jakob.
He looked back.
Neither smiled.
Neither flinched.
They studied each other with the serious attention of two people who understood what it was to be seen by forces larger than their own comfort.
"You're not afraid," Jakob said quietly.
Anja tilted her head.
"I am," she replied honestly. "But not of you."
Jakob considered that.
"Good," he said. "I get tired of being the wrong kind of scary."
Kessel exhaled softly through his nose.
Chiara's lips twitched.
Matteo blinked once and decided he liked the archivist immediately.
They moved closer, not to encircle Anja, but to share the space more fully. The fog thinned just slightly, as if recognizing that this was a moment best left clear.
Elena gestured to the stone bench near the fig tree.
"Sit?" she asked.
Anja nodded.
They all sat, not in a formal arrangement, but in the awkward semicircle of people who did not yet know which roles would solidify and which would dissolve.
For a few breaths, no one spoke.
Anja broke the silence—not with a question, but with an acknowledgment.
"I was asked to come because I know how to observe without trying to own what I see," she said quietly. "If I do anything today that feels like possession rather than attention… please stop me."
Elena's gaze softened.
"We will," she said.
Jakob leaned forward, elbows on knees.
"Do you know why the island asked for you?" he asked.
Anja inhaled slowly.
"No," she said. "But I know why I said yes."
"Why?" Matteo asked.
She looked at him, then at all of them.
"Because someone finally asked a question without attaching an answer," she replied. "I wanted to see if that was real."
Kessel's eyes darkened with something like respect.
"It is," he said. "And it isn't."
Anja nodded.
"That's usually how it works."
Chiara shifted her weight.
"So," she said, "you're not here to judge us."
"No," Anja replied. "I'm here to understand you well enough not to judge you by mistake."
Jakob smiled then.
A small, relieved smile.
"That's different," he said.
"Yes," Anja agreed. "It is."
They sat with that difference for a while.
Then Elena spoke, her voice low, careful.
"The island made a second decision," she said. "It decided that sanctuary shouldn't belong to one place alone."
Anja's hands tightened slightly in her lap.
"I felt something," she admitted. "Before the letter arrived. Like a question had found me."
Jakob nodded.
"That was it."
Kessel studied Anja with a gaze that had learned not to trust anything that arrived gently.
"And you answered," he said.
"Yes," she replied. "But I didn't promise anything I couldn't keep."
"What did you promise?" Matteo asked.
Anja met his eyes.
"To look carefully," she said. "And to return."
Chiara tilted her head.
"To Vienna?"
"Eventually," Anja replied. "But not only there."
Elena's brows knit slightly.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," Anja said softly, "that if sanctuary is becoming a conversation instead of a condition, then witness cannot belong to one city either."
The courtyard stilled.
Not from tension.
From recognition.
Jakob whispered:
"She's right."
Kessel exhaled.
"That complicates everything."
Anja smiled faintly.
"Everything that matters is complicated," she said. "The simple things take care of themselves."
A breeze stirred the fig leaves.
Fog shifted at the edge of the courtyard, not intruding.
Listening.
Jakob looked at Anja again.
"Do you know what it's like," he asked, "to feel like the world keeps making choices about you without asking?"
Anja did not answer immediately.
She stood slowly and knelt in front of him so that their eyes were level.
"Yes," she said quietly. "Not in the same way. But in enough ways that I will not pretend I don't understand."
He studied her face.
"You won't try to save me," he said.
She shook her head.
"No," she replied. "I will try to stand where people stop trying to use you as proof."
His shoulders loosened.
"That sounds… safer," he said.
"Safer," Anja agreed, "is often the most radical thing we can offer."
Elena felt tears sting unexpectedly and turned her face away before anyone noticed.
Kessel closed his eyes for a moment and let himself believe, just briefly, that perhaps the world had not chosen cruelty by default after all.
Matteo cleared his throat.
"So," he said gently, "what happens now?"
Anja rose and returned to the bench.
"Now," she said, "I listen. You speak when you wish. The city continues becoming what it is becoming. And when I leave, I tell the truth about what I saw—without performance, without defense, without accusation."
Chiara considered her.
"And Vienna?"
Anja's voice did not harden.
"Vienna will hear," she said. "Whether it listens is not my responsibility. Whether I speak honestly is."
The fog thinned a little more, sunlight touching the courtyard stones.
Jakob leaned back against Elena's side.
"She doesn't feel like someone sent by them," he murmured.
Elena kissed his hair.
"No," she agreed. "She feels like someone sent by the space between."
They sat together for a long while after that.
Not negotiating.
Not planning.
Not strategizing.
Just being present in a moment that did not demand resolution.
When they finally stood to leave, Anja lingered by the fig tree and placed her palm lightly against the bark.
She whispered—not to the tree, not to the city, not to the island—
"I will do my best."
The fog did not respond.
But the air around her felt… satisfied.
And for the first time since this strange new story had begun, five people and a city and an island shared the same quiet understanding:
Nothing had been solved.
But something essential had finally been spoken aloud.