The morning woke slowly through the faded curtains of Anna's small house. A pale, almost gray light filtered into the room, casting long, silent shadows on the wooden floor. It was a day like any other, an ordinary day in an ordinary life. Yet, something different hung in the air. There was a tremor of unease, an invisible tension that seemed to invade every corner of the house. Anna had woken up earlier than usual, without knowing why, but feeling that she couldn't stay in bed any longer. The silence, usual and comforting, seemed oppressive today, almost threatening.
She went to the kitchen, where her mother was already busy preparing a meager breakfast. The woman's movements were mechanical, almost automatic. She didn't look up, didn't speak to her, as if this simple morning ritual didn't matter. Anna knew her mother well: a woman of strong character, as hard as stone, always concerned with survival, money, and bills. There was never room for emotions, for tender words. Yet, this morning, Anna noticed something strange: the coldness in her mother's gaze was deeper, more pronounced than usual. As if something heavy was about to happen, an event that her mother didn't dare name.
"Anna," she said finally, her voice low, almost too calm. "We have a visitor. Get ready."
Her mother's tone, usually sharp, betrayed an odd nervousness. She didn't need to say more. Anna knew, deep down, that this "visitor" wouldn't be just anyone. The few people who crossed their doorstep were never friends. They always brought something with them: debts, traded goods, secret arrangements. And every visitor, no matter how seemingly trivial, had a price.
"A man of importance," her mother added, her fingers trembling slightly as she folded the napkins. This detail didn't escape Anna. She watched the woman who had raised her, the woman who had taught her to fight for every piece of bread, to expect nothing, to never hope for better. Her mother's nervousness was palpable, and something in her gaze froze Anna. Something was wrong. But Anna didn't know what. She didn't dare ask questions. Things were not spoken of in this house; they were lived, often in silence.
Anna stood up, her legs heavy with apprehension. She wasn't the type to ask questions, but today, a strange feeling was gnawing at her gut. A premonition. A visceral need to know. Who was this "visitor"? Why the unease in her mother? Why the urgency to prepare her?
She slipped into her room, dressing mechanically. Her worn cotton dress, her old sweater, everything she owned seemed to fade under the growing tension in the house. She suddenly felt cramped in her own body, as if the room itself had shrunk around her. Everything was heavier, more suffocating. She wasn't even hungry. The feeling of unease had become too strong for her to focus on anything else.
When she entered the living room, she saw him.
The man was there, motionless, almost perfectly silent, as if he had belonged to this place forever. He stood near the fireplace, his back straight, arms crossed, his eyes fixed on the cold hearth. He didn't seem to notice her presence for a long time. Then, he turned his head slowly, and their gazes met.
Anna's heart tightened in her chest, her breath caught. There was something terrifying about this man, a palpable presence, a sense of immediate danger. He was tall, with an impressive stature, and everything about him exuded authority and intimidation. His dark clothes were impeccably tailored, his short black hair neatly cut. But what struck her the most wasn't his clothes or even his cold face. It was his gaze. A gaze that seemed to understand everything, analyze everything in an instant. A piercing, icy gaze that seemed capable of penetrating her soul.
"This is the girl," her mother said, her voice cold, distant. She lowered her eyes after speaking, as if she couldn't face the reality of what was about to happen.
The man then looked at her, with a clinical eye, almost as if she were an animal being evaluated, a possession being inspected before deciding its fate. He took a step toward her, and she felt terror seize her insides. Her legs trembled slightly, but she forced herself not to look away. She stood up straight, trying to appear calm, but deep inside, fear had taken over.
"So, it's her…" the man said, his voice low, almost a whisper. His lips barely lifted, but he spoke as if pronouncing a sentence.
Anna didn't have the courage to respond. Her words were stuck in her throat. She could feel her heart beating louder, a dull sound that reverberated in her ears. She knew, in some way, that her mother had made an irreversible decision. She had always understood that her mother had dealings with unsavory people, but she had never imagined that it would concern her own life.
The man stood up and approached her, his steps echoing heavily on the floorboards. He didn't even seem to hurry, as if time had no hold on him. He stood just there, face to face with her, too close, too imposing. The smell of his cologne, a woody, harsh fragrance, seemed to fill the air around her. He leaned in slightly, as if to better size her up, his eyes never leaving hers.
"Louis Bernard," he finally said, his voice trembling the air. He pronounced each syllable with icy precision. "People call me The Reaper."
The nickname made her shiver. Anna had heard rumors, stories whispered in the dark alleys of the city. They said he was the one who collected debts with such coldness that even the bravest trembled at his name. The Reaper, a merciless man, an urban legend, perhaps. But here, in front of her, he was no longer just a rumor. He was real, and everything about him embodied authority and threat.
She wanted to step back, but her feet remained nailed to the ground. Fear paralyzed her. She didn't know what he wanted, but she sensed that this moment would be a turning point in her life.
He scrutinized her again, and with each passing second, it seemed as if he was soaking in every detail of her being. His gaze slid over her hair, her worn clothes, her trembling hands. Then, in a tone almost amused, he added:
"I hear you've inherited your mother's traits…"
Anna didn't have time to respond. Her mother approached then, her eyes averted, as if she no longer dared to meet her gaze. "Anna," she said, in a voice barely recognizable, "you must obey."
Her mother's words echoed in her mind like a hammer blow. That was it, the truth. Her mother had given in, irrevocably, to a decision Anna didn't yet understand. But she knew now that this "visitor" wasn't here for a simple visit. No. He was here to mark a turning point in her life, to turn her into a commodity like so many before her.
And at that precise moment, Anna understood that her fate had just been sealed.