I didn't know where to begin.
I started with the university archives.
They were kept hidden, tucked below the old lecture halls—a quiet cellar of yellow folders, bound registries, and aging shelves sagging under the weight of decades. I didn't have clearance to go digging through them, but Johann, an old colleague now working as an assistant archivist, still owed a favor. He let in, on the promise that I wouldn't be long.
I wasn't sure what I was hoping to find. Maybe a ntion. A surna. A date.
Instead, I found dozens.
Clara Lehmann. Clara Bauer. Clara Vogel. The deeper I dug, the more Clara entries surfaced. So were current students, so from past years. All ordinary. All accounted for.
I moved slower after that—checking each entry by hand. Birth records. Dorm assignnts. Faculty letters. One by one, I crossed them off.
And then I saw it.
Clara Weiss.
No courses. No assigned departnt. No birth year. The page wasn't missing—it was there, filed properly, her na centered on the header like all the rest. But everything beneath it had been... blanked.
No ink smudges. No tear marks. Just silence.
It was the only file I'd seen that looked like that. And it was the only one that made my skin tighten.
***
Later that afternoon, I stepped into the back of the lecture hall. Dr. Holtz was mid-conversation with a man I didn't recognize—broad-shouldered, dressed in a plain coat with a ssenger bag slung across his chest. He looked slightly older than . Mid-thirties, maybe. Quiet. Attentive.
I hadn't ant to listen. I only ant to sit. But when I heard the man speak.
"Johannes Weiss," he said. "He lectured here once, didn't he?"
His voice wasn't forceful—just... precise. Like he was checking a detail he'd already confird.
Holtz nodded. "Physician. Brief stint with the faculty. Brilliant, if a bit unusual. Talked more about taphysics than anatomy by the end. Moved to Dresden, if I recall. Took his daughter with him."
"Do you rember when?" the man asked.
Holtz tilted his head. "Hmm. Just before the war scare. 1881 or '82, I'd guess."
I stood frozen in the back row, watching the exchange unfold. Not because of what was said, but because of the way the stranger reacted. He didn't nod or ask another question. He just listened—closely—then gave a quiet thank you and stepped away.
I stayed a mont longer, heart knocking harder than it should.
Weiss.
Clara Weiss.
I didn't know how he'd known the na. Or why he'd asked. But whatever brought him here—it had led to the sa place.
I glanced back as I left. The man was gone.
I never saw him on campus again.
***
That night, I sat at my desk staring at the journal. Her na was still there—unchanged, unmoved. Just six letters pressed into the paper like a scar. Clara. It didn't glow. It didn't shift. But it no longer felt like a question.
It felt like direction.
I traced the edge of the page with my thumb, half-expecting sothing else to surface. Another word. Another pull. But the silence said enough.
That night I didn't dream. Or if I did, I didn't rember it. I woke early, washed with cold water, and dressed before the sun rose. The streets of Charlottenburg were quiet—only the faint sound of hooves and the distant clatter of bakery carts opening.
I reached the station just as they unlocked the ticket window.
The clerk barely looked up. "Destination?"
"Dresden," I said. "Earliest departure."
He blinked at the request, then checked the schedule. "You'll need to transfer at Riesa. After that, it's a local line or a hired cart. Weßer Hirsch is up in the hills—convalescent village. Not much traffic."
I nodded. "That's fine."
He slid the ticket across the counter. "You visiting soone?"
I hesitated. "An old friend."
The man didn't ask further. He stamped the stub and waved on.
I moved to the platform and stood alone in the cold, my gloved hands in my coat pockets, the wind tugging at the corners of my collar. The engine was still warming. A faint trail of smoke drifted over the roof.
I wasn't sure what I was heading toward.
But for the first ti in weeks, I wasn't just chasing ghosts.
I was following sothing real.
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