As the sun dipped behind the neighboring island, the people sitting and standing along the shore slowly began to gather their things. They rose unhurriedly from the still-warm, coarse, black sand, brushing the crushed pebbles from their clothes before quietly heading home.
Those standing in the water began to wade out too, moving slowly, as if savoring the final moments when the ocean’s cool waves still gently lapped at their ankles. As they stepped onto the shore, the foamy water receded behind them. Only three pairs remained, their silhouettes spaced far apart, breaking the seamless, silver-tinted horizon where the sky met the sea.
They didn’t even notice each other.
Bernard and Noud. Esteban and Carlos. And María José and Ludmilla.
They stood in silence, thirty, thirty-five meters apart, gazing into the distance, as if the evening itself had arranged them into some strange, scattered formation. They knew nothing of each other’s intentions, yet some inexplicable force seemed to connect them.
Ted probably had no idea what kind of avalanche his move into the complex would trigger. And even less that, beyond the six determined figures standing in the surf, there was someone else in the neighborhood—someone who hadn’t bought a house there by chance. Someone who had been tracking him long before the others began stirring up trouble—someone who hadn’t given him a moment’s peace, and who had more reason than anyone to want that man with the Coke-bottle glasses erased from existence. Someone who wasn’t just following orders or giving in to passion.
The one who truly thirsted for payback. For one devastating, final blow.
The invisible hand that had led them to the shore now tapped each pair gently on the shoulder: time to go. No hurry, nothing dramatic—just slowly, carefully, so that they would all arrive at the end of the promenade at the same time. So that, with tension under the surface and emotions tightly held back, they’d have no choice but to exchange polite greetings.
“Well now,” Noud chuckled. “What a coincidence… I wasn’t expecting a full-on reunion.”
“Well, when someone wants a bit of peace and quiet…” María José began, clearly irritated.
“A sunset stroll,” Ludmilla quickly cut in.
“Your husband didn’t feel like coming?” Esteban asked, his tone oddly neutral.
Ludmilla waved her hand dismissively.
“He’s not interested in anything that involves me.”
Esteban looked deeply into the German woman’s eyes. A faint smile formed on his face. The usual sly, mischievous expression had vanished—this time, it was something else entirely. Instead of the usual, polite mockery, his gaze radiated quiet empathy.
Carlos gave his friend’s elbow an urgent tap but didn’t feel like speaking. Esteban, however, seemed unwilling to let the moment slip away.
“May we invite the ladies for a nice, alcohol-free cocktail?”
María José pulled a face.
“I doubt I’ll ever set foot in a restaurant—or any hospitality place—for the rest of my life.”
“I’m probably done too,” Carlos nodded.
Esteban gave him a pleading look.
“What if…” Carlos hesitated, though he longed for his bed, “…I walk María José home, and you two go enjoy that cocktail?”
“If that’s really what you want…”
“It is. Come on, Majo. Let’s go.”
Bernard and Noud exchanged a glance. The icy hostility directed toward them was almost tangible. They said nothing, just nodded awkwardly, and then, without another word, turned their backs on the older group and disappeared down the street.