Episode 1

A beautiful young woman of serene presence, as if the world had not yet touched her entirely. Her long, flowing hair had the golden hue of flax in the sun, cascading down her back like a curtain of warm light. It was not common blonde but that type of gold that seems to retain the memory of summer.

Her eyes are almond-shaped, a light brown with flecks of amber.

She finishes attending to the last customers at the restaurant where she has been working for some time. They leave her a generous amount of bills as a tip before departing.

The girl smiles cheerfully, for with that money she can pay part of the rent.

Her boss, Mr. Wilson, watches her from the threshold with a slight smile that softened the lines of his aged face. His normally stern eyes shone with a glimmer of genuine happiness. “Keep it up, and you’ll be employee of the month.”

“I hope so; I’ve worked really hard for this. I really want to achieve it,” she asserted. If she succeeded, a juicy bonus would help her cover expenses for the next two months.

“I trust you, Katerina. Now go, it’s late; I’ll take care of cleaning and closing up.”

Her brown eyes widened slightly.

“Don’t look at me like that; I may be old, but I can still handle these things.”

A laugh escaped her lips, and she smiled, moving closer to him and hugging him gently. “Thank you; you are the best boss in the world.”

The man nodded, while his heart filled with a tender warmth for the young woman he considered a daughter. He watched her with a quiet air of satisfaction, like a father witnessing a well-tended talent bloom.

Had they known it would be the last time they would see each other, they surely would have stopped time to savor just a little bit more.

However, fate is capricious, with uncertain humor; it delights in twisting paths just when we believe we have charted them straight.

Katerina grabbed her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and stepped into the bustling streets of the city that welcomed her with its humid breath and streetlamps that barely defeated the shadows. It was already night, and people were still walking on the busy thoroughfares.

Her eyes darted between vehicles and people, who, like her, had just come out of their jobs. It was late, but not too late to feel fear, or so she thought at first.

She walked down a narrow street where the buildings seemed to huddle together as if trying to protect each other from the cold. Then she heard it.

A dry, violent sound. Like a contained blow. Then, a whimper.

She stopped.

Her heart started to pound in her throat, but she didn’t retreat. Instead, she dug her hand into her bag, groping for the small canister of pepper spray her grandfather had given her years ago, with a serious smile and the phrase, “in case you ever need it.”

She moved forward, following the noises. The alley was dark, narrow, and smelled of iron and damp garbage. There, under the dim light of a broken streetlamp, she saw him: a burly man was on top of a girl, no older than thirteen, gripping her violently, his hand covered in blood and his body bent with an unmistakable intention.

The world stopped for a second. Katerina trembled. She was not a heroine; she had never been one. But something within her, stronger than fear, took control.

“Let her go!” she shouted, and before the man could fully turn, she aimed the pepper spray directly at his eyes and pressed the nozzle.

The attacker roared, releasing the girl, who crumpled to the ground sobbing.

“Run!” Katerina yelled at her. “Run and get help!”

The girl, her face streaked with tears and blood, stumbled away, disappearing around the corner.

But it wasn't enough.

The man, blinded by rage and pain, lunged at her like a wounded animal. He shoved her against the wall with brutal force, knocking the breath out of her. His hand closed around her neck, tightening, tightening...

“I’ll kill you.”

The world became blurry, gray. Katerina felt the air slipping away and her body turning foreign. She thought of her mother, of her grandfather, of that girl running among shadows.

And then, with the last spark of consciousness, she remembered the key. She always kept it in the pocket of her coat. She pulled it out as best as she could, and with a desperate gesture, she plunged it forcefully into the man’s neck.

He stopped. Gasped. And fell.

So did Katerina.

When the girl returned with the police, panting, pointing with trembling hands toward the alley, she found both bodies on the ground. The dead man. And her too.

But not with a lost gaze. Not with fear. Instead, with something that resembled peace. Because she had done it. She had saved someone.

The girl stepped forward. She wasn’t crying now. She wasn’t shouting. She simply looked at that fallen woman as if she were the statue of an angel that had broken to save her.

“She saved me,” she whispered.

The officers exchanged glances in silence. One removed his hat, out of respect. The other called for backup over the radio. But nothing could erase what had happened there: an act of courage as silent as it was fierce. A life given for another.

And in the midst of that night stained by violence, shone—if only for a fleeting moment—the dignity of a woman who did not look away.

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