Navigating Narva Arriving at the University of Narva with my bag slung over my shoulder, I was greeted first not by faces but by the collision of languages: Estonian, Russian, the odd ripple of English ricocheting off the hallways’ linoleum floors. The place felt less like an academic fortress and more like a border post,…
Tag: Estonia
The Chronicles of a Memory Cartographer: Estonia 19
The Extraction The Call Hasna’s voice slashes through Tarmo’s phone like a blade: “Both of you—move, now! No debate. OUT.” We scramble. I grab clothes, almost tripping as I shove my leg into the wrong jeans. Tarmo reaches for his watch, his wallet—boardroom instincts in a firefight moment. The words “Where is my—” die on…
The Chronicles of a Memory Cartographer: Estonia 18
Intimacy Renewed I pause at my door. The window is shattered, the curtain ripped. Two housekeepers move briskly around the room, stuffing fresh linens into corners still stinking of bleach.Behind me, Tarmo says—too gruff, almost harsh:“My room. Now.”I don’t argue. I’m beyond protest. His room is quiet, untouched. The lamps wash the space in dim…
The Chronicles of a Memory Cartographer: Estonia 17
Warehouse — Nowhere/Peipsimaa The world returns in fragments: cold seeping through concrete, nausea rolling through my gut, wrists burning where cable ties bite flesh. Blood coats my tongue, diesel fumes thicken the air, and two men in patchy Russian camouflage watch from behind pulled-down masks. The leader crouches close—hard-bodied, oil-slick hair, gold tooth gleaming in…
The Chronicles of a Memory Cartographer: Estonia 16
Kadrina Manor: Anchored and Watched A low afternoon sun shimmered behind rows of birch as the car finally rattled to a halt outside Kadrina Manor. The old mansion, pale and imposing, stood sentinel over the lakeland silence. Elena pressed her notebook against her knee, casting a sidelong glance at Tarmo, who methodically gathered wrappers and…
The Chronicles of a Memory Cartographer: Estonia 15
“Along The Onion Route” (Sibulatee) “What the fresh hell did I get myself into now?!” The thought hits me as I lie tangled in Tarmo’s arms, the room still humming with the aftershocks of what just happened. Skin on skin, heart thrumming far too close to his—suddenly the sheer absurdity, the wild improbability of everything,…
The Chronicles of a Memory Cartographer. Estonia: 14
“Raw clarity” The corridor hums with residual electricity from the old lightning, my mouth bitter with champagne and vanished certainty. I close the door behind me, press my forehead against burnished wood, and let the distance from the bar settle into my bones. Karim’s words pursue me: Zürich. Hasna waiting. Something bigger than any of…
The Chronicles of a Memory Cartographer: Estonia 7
Pärnu Passages I freeze for a moment at the thought of him—Tarmo, with his manufactured calm and predator’s patience, his knack for appearing at precisely the moment convenience turns to constraint. He’s coming to pick me up; gods know what the voyage will entail. His presence is practical, of course—a shield, a ready-made alibi, the…
The Chronicles of a Memory Cartographer: Estonia 6
Detour to Pärnu Tarmo Tarmo stood at the smoked-glass window of his Tallinn suite, the city blurred beyond the pane. He reread the report: Karim sighted at the sauna with Elena. No photo, no proof, just a string of cautious words from his watcher. He found no comfort in ambiguity. He called for his assistant….
The C.O.M.C. Files 