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…
Tag: Romance
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 12
The Almost: Holding the Sky Back in town, we pass the kissing couple sculpture. Bronze mouths forever almost joined, myth made monument to the exquisite cruelty of “not yet.” We pause in their shadow, breath intermingling in the cold air. Tourists pose and giggle; schoolchildren shout around us, but we exist in a different frequency….
The Chronicles of a Memory Cartographer: Estonia 11
“Protocol and Desire” Elena I have the rare luxury of being alone. The snow has turned everything outside muffled and slow—it makes the world feel a little farther away, which suits me. I’m quartered tonight at the Antonius, a structure with more lives than most of its guests and an attitude to match. The building…
The Chronicles of a Memory Cartographer: Estonia 10
Tartu, Cratt & Samizdat Raamatukauplus Krisostomo The bookstore is a holdover from another century; the brass bell above the door still clunks; the dust smells like old secrets. It’s a quiet, stubborn place at the edge of the old quarter—a haven for unread stories, with shelves stacked close and the air thick with the weight…
The Chronicles of a Memory Cartographer: Estonia 8
A Brief Arrival on the Edge Pärnu – The Hotel Room The keycard trembles in Elena’s fingers as she stands at her door. They’ve ignored the sexual tension with professional distance all day. She turned to him, the corridor stretching like a held breath between them. A trace of warmth ghosted her expression—not quite a…
The C.O.M.C. Files 