UnBooks:"Ladies' Ride Through Space-Time"

Ivan Tůma’s journey on this earth ended quietly, peacefully, at the age of seventy-eight. At Lara Croft’s request, he was laid to rest in the family tomb—a mark of the profound bond that had developed between them. But as Lara stood there, feeling the finality of the moment, it dawned on her that Ivan’s mysteries hadn’t ended with his life. If anything, they seemed only to deepen.

It was Priscilla, his granddaughter, who first spoke of it. “He was always a closed book, Lara. But now…” Lara could see it in her eyes—an eagerness to uncover the hidden layers of the man who’d shaped so much of her own life and whose influence would continue to ripple through the generations.

Then there was Evelyn, the unexpected third presence in their shared grief. Once Ivan’s companion during a midlife crisis, Evelyn’s history with him was woven with complexities and tenderness. When she saw Ivan in his last years, she marveled at how he’d aged. Time had transformed him from a man who, through his adventures, had retained the vitality of a fifty-year-old, to someone truly his age. Yet, thanks to his journeys through time alongside Lara, he had somehow bridged decades, his face a testament to a life truly lived.

For Lara, the realization struck harder. Ivan’s secrets—those silent chapters he’d never shared—were not only a part of her own history but also a puzzle she now longed to solve, to understand his life as deeply as he had once known hers.

Driven by this resolve, the three women—Lara, Priscilla, and Evelyn—made an extraordinary decision. With a unique device Lara had unearthed in her travels—a relic capable of bending time—they would retrace Ivan’s life, piecing together his untold stories. They couldn’t alter his past, only observe, but this was enough. With each temporal window they opened, they would come face-to-face with Ivan’s unspoken struggles, his victories, and the people he’d loved and lost along the way.

This journey wasn’t about time travel as an adventure. It was a quest to illuminate the shadows that Ivan left behind, a pilgrimage into the hidden depths of the man who had been a steady and, at times, enigmatic presence in all their lives. Each step would bring them closer to understanding Ivan’s path, the battles he bore alone, and the choices that made him the man they cherished.

Together, they would trace Ivan’s legacy, discovering truths about family, resilience, and the way love binds across boundaries—even those of time. This was no ordinary exploration. It was a reckoning, a tribute, and a journey into the heart of memory itself.

Chapter 1

The morning light filtered through the grand windows of Croft Manor, casting a soft golden glow on the elegant bedroom where Lara stirred awake. She reached out instinctively, expecting to find Ivan beside her. The empty space startled her for a fleeting moment, but she dismissed the thought. Ivan often rose early, a habit from his days as a soldier and adventurer.

Stretching leisurely, Lara slipped out of bed, her bare feet touching the cool hardwood floor. She moved through her morning routine with practiced ease—showering, brushing out her hair, and selecting her outfit for the day. Despite the faint echo of Ivan's absence, she felt no real concern.

What did catch her off guard, however, was the absence of breakfast. Normally, Winston or Ivan—sometimes both—would ensure she started her day with a tray of tea, toast, and eggs. Her stomach gave a quiet growl as she descended the grand staircase, intent on finding them.

The scene that greeted her in the dining room froze her in place. Winston stood rigid by the table, his usually composed expression stricken with horror. On the other side of the table lay Ivan, slumped over as if he’d simply fallen asleep. But the untouched breakfast tray nearby, the empty shot glass in front of him, and the faint, acrid scent in the air told a different story.

Lara’s heart sank. Her eyes darted to the glass, its rim stained with a faint residue. The bottle of whiskey—one of Ivan's favorites—stood beside it. And then she saw the crumpled paper on the table, its Czech scribbles blurred by her tears before she could fully process it.

“Kyanide,” Winston murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lara staggered, gripping the edge of the chair for support. “No,” she breathed. “No, no, no... Why? Why would he…?”

Winston looked at her, his usually unshakable demeanor shattered. “I don’t know, my lady. He seemed... at peace yesterday. There were no signs.”

Her mind reeled. Ivan, her husband, her partner, the man who had walked through fire and across time with her, was gone. And he had chosen this end.

Later, after the coroner had arrived and the manor was silent again, Lara retreated to Ivan’s study. The room was an extension of him—lined with books, maps, and mementos from his past. Her trembling hands rifled through his desk drawers, searching for answers, for anything that could make sense of this nightmare.

Her fingers brushed against something worn and leather-bound. Pulling it free, she realized it was Ivan’s old Czechoslovak identification card. She flipped it open and scanned the details, her breath catching as her eyes landed on his date of birth: February 14th.

The realization hit her like a blow. Ivan had shared a birthday with her. All those years together, and he had never mentioned it. She, in turn, had never celebrated it for him—had never even thought to ask.

Her eyes filled with tears as she thought of all the gifts he had showered her with over the years: the rare dresses, the luxury cars, even the Learjet she now used for her travels. Ivan had given her so much, yet she had never once thought to return the gesture.

The day of the funeral arrived with a heavy sky, clouds hanging low over the grounds of the Croft family tomb. Lara had insisted on burying Ivan there, despite his wish to be cremated. She wanted him close, a permanent part of the family he had built with her.

The turnout surprised her. Familiar faces gathered, each carrying their own memories of the man they had lost. Burkov and Adam stood solemnly near the back, while Zip offered Lara a comforting nod. Priscilla, Ivan’s granddaughter, clung to Evelyn, both women tearful but composed. Görgy, the Hungarian member of their time-traveling escapades, offered a silent prayer.

To Lara’s astonishment, even Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce appeared, their presence a testament to the strange and unpredictable life Ivan had led. The singer’s face was uncharacteristically solemn as she exchanged quiet words with Görgy, who had shared many of those chaotic time-hopping adventures with her and Ivan.

Then, in a surprising show of camaraderie, members of the 601st Special Forces Unit—men who had fought alongside Ivan in his youth—saluted as the casket was lowered into the earth.

That evening, Lara sat with Winston in the dimly lit study, a glass of whiskey untouched in her hand. She stared at the flames in the fireplace, her mind replaying the events of the past days.

“Winston,” she said finally, her voice hoarse, “why? Why did he do this?”

The butler sighed, his age showing in the lines of his face. “He didn’t want you to know, my lady,” he began slowly. “But… Ivan was dying. Pancreatic cancer.”

Lara’s head snapped toward him, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Cancer? But he seemed fine.”

“It’s a cruel disease,” Winston said softly. “He was in pain, though he hid it well. And he didn’t want you to carry that burden.”

Her hands trembled as she set the glass down. “Why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t he let me be there for him?”

“Because he loved you,” Winston replied simply. “And because he was Ivan. Stubborn, proud… and always thinking of others before himself.”

The weight of it all was too much. Lara pressed her face into her hands, the tears she had been holding back finally breaking free.

Chapter 2

Croft Manor, with its historic walls and pristine grounds, had never witnessed such a chaotic gathering as the wake held in Ivan’s honor. The funeral had been somber and dignified, with heartfelt words spoken over his grave in the Croft family tomb. But the wake—well, that was something else entirely.

Lara stood by the large bay window, nursing a glass of whiskey. She still wore her black dress, but her heels had long been abandoned in favor of bare feet. Across the room, the chaos of the evening was unfolding. Priscilla and Evelyn were holding court near the drinks table, both laughing louder than Lara had ever heard before. Priscilla, in particular, seemed to be enjoying herself immensely, gesturing animatedly with a cocktail in hand as she recounted some story about Ivan’s escapades. Evelyn, her face flushed from wine, chimed in with her own anecdotes, creating a lively back-and-forth.

The veterans of the 601st Special Forces Group had made themselves right at home, raiding Ivan’s private stash of Czech alcohol. Becherovka, slivovice, and even a few dusty bottles of Tuzemák were being passed around like trophies. One of the older men, still broad-shouldered despite his years, raised a glass and bellowed, “To Ivan! A man who could drink us all under the table!” The room erupted in cheers, and glasses clinked together in a cacophony of celebration.

Winston, ever the loyal butler, was doing his best to keep things under control, though his efforts were half-hearted at best. He’d clearly given up on formality for the night, his tie loosened and his usual composure replaced with a faintly amused expression. Even he was nursing a tumbler of whiskey—an Irish one, of course.

Lara’s mind wandered as she watched the revelry. The image of Ivan lying lifeless at the breakfast table was still seared into her memory. She had been shocked, devastated, and confused all at once. The man who had survived gunfights, explosions, and even time travel had chosen to end his life quietly, with a glass of whiskey laced with cyanide. It didn’t make sense, and yet... in a way, it did.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden burst of laughter from Priscilla, who had managed to spill half her drink down the front of her dress. Evelyn, equally unsteady, tried to help her wipe it off, only to knock over a bottle of slivovice in the process. “Oh, for God’s sake,” Priscilla said, though her exasperation was softened by a grin.

“Careful with that!” one of the 601st veterans called out. “That’s the good stuff!”

“Not anymore,” Evelyn quipped, holding up the nearly empty bottle. The group erupted into laughter again, and someone started singing a half-remembered Czech folk song.

Görgy, meanwhile, had wandered outside. Lara noticed him through the window, staggering slightly as he made his way toward the estate’s gardens. Curious, she followed him, stepping out into the cool night air. What she found was... unexpected, to say the least. Görgy was in the middle of what could only be described as a intercourse with one of the sheep that grazed on the manor’s expansive grounds.

“Görgy, what the hell are you doing?” Lara demanded, her British accent sharp enough to cut through his drunken haze.

“It’s tradition,” Görgy slurred, waving a hand dismissively. “Hungarian roots, you wouldn’t understand.”

Lara pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “You’re lucky Ivan isn’t here to see this. He’d probably shoot you himself.”

Priscilla and Evelyn, who had followed Lara outside, burst into laughter at the sight. “That’s just Görgy,” Priscilla said with a shrug. “Honestly, this isn’t even the weirdest thing he’s done.”

Evelyn, however, looked genuinely horrified. “Is this normal for your... circle?”

“Define normal,” Lara replied dryly, turning back toward the house.

Inside, the mood was reaching its peak. Someone had unearthed a harmonica and a battered guitar, and an impromptu band had formed in the corner. The veterans of the 601st were singing along to a mix of Czech folk songs and badly improvised English lyrics, their deep voices filling the room. Winston, now visibly tipsy, was swaying along to the music, much to everyone’s amusement.

Lara, despite herself, began to feel a flicker of warmth amidst the chaos. This wasn’t the wake she had envisioned, but perhaps it was exactly what Ivan would have wanted. He had always been a man who lived life on his own terms, and this unruly, joyful celebration felt like a fitting tribute.

As the night wore on, the group moved from singing to dancing. Priscilla pulled Lara into the center of the room, and before she knew it, she was twirling to the sound of a raucous polka. Even Evelyn, usually so composed, joined in, her laughter ringing out as she stumbled through the unfamiliar steps.

The highlight of the evening came when Winston, in a moment of uncharacteristic showmanship, produced a Walther PP from his jacket. Without a word, he aimed at a bottle of champagne and fired, the cork flying off with a resounding pop. The room erupted into cheers, and Winston took a mock bow before tucking the pistol back into his pocket.

“To Ivan!” he declared, raising his glass.

“To Ivan!” the room echoed, their voices blending into a chorus of love, respect, and irreverent humor.

By the time the party began to wind down, the first rays of dawn were peeking through the windows. Lara sat on the grand staircase, a nearly empty glass in her hand. She felt a strange mixture of sadness and contentment. Ivan was gone, but tonight had proven that his spirit was still very much alive.

Looking up at the fading stars, she whispered, “I hope you’re watching this, Ivan. You’d be proud of the mess you’ve left behind.”

Chapter 3

Lara stood at the edge of the dusty plateau, the sun hanging low over the Taurus Mountains, casting long shadows over the rocky landscape. It had been years since she had first ventured here, unearthing components from a lost civilization—the beginnings of her journey through time. This time, however, her purpose was different. She was driven by more than curiosity; she was searching for answers about the man she had loved and lost.

Ivan’s death had left a void in her life, one that she was determined to fill by understanding his past. Alongside Priscilla and Evelyn, she had begun piecing together the fragments of his story—the soldier, the criminal, the reluctant hero. But the mysteries went deeper, and she needed to know more.

The journey took her far beyond Taurus. Five long months passed as she followed the faintest of leads, from the dense jungles of Ghana to the windswept dunes of Algeria. She dived into the turquoise waters of the Red Sea, chasing down legends of shipwrecks that Ivan had once mentioned in passing. She even ventured into the dark ruins of Bolivia, retracing the steps of her own past adventures. There, in a place where time seemed to hold its breath, she found the portal—glowing softly in the darkness like a doorway to another world.

Her mother, Amelia, stood on the other side, just as she remembered her. For a moment, Lara hesitated, overwhelmed by the flood of memories and emotions. Then, with a determined stride, she stepped through the portal.

“Mother,” she said, her voice choked with emotion. “I have so much to tell you.”

Amelia’s face softened with a mixture of relief and disbelief. “Lara, my dear... Is it really you?”

“Yes,” Lara whispered, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I got married, Mother. And he’s gone now. His name was Ivan.”

They spoke for what felt like hours, their voices echoing in the strange, timeless space beyond the portal. Lara recounted her life with Ivan—their adventures, their struggles, and the quiet moments they had stolen in between the chaos. Amelia listened intently, confusion and wonder mingling in her eyes. When Lara began to describe Ivan’s past—the soldier’s life he had led, the criminal deeds he had confessed, and the redemption he had sought—her mother’s brow furrowed.

“But Lara,” Amelia said hesitantly, “he wasn’t... noble.”

“No,” Lara agreed softly, her gaze unwavering. “He was more noble than any count or duke I’ve ever known.”

With a forceful yank, she pulled Amelia through the portal and into the real world. It was disorienting, and for a moment, Amelia struggled to regain her balance. Lara held her firmly, grounding her in the present. They stood together in a cluttered garage, surrounded by the remnants of Ivan’s life—cars and memories, pieces of a man who had lived in the shadows but loved fiercely.

Amelia’s eyes widened as she took in the strange collection of vehicles. She wandered from one to the next, her fingers brushing against the faded paint of the police Volga 24, the gleaming red of the Škoda Super Estelle with its retro Hella lights, and the sleek lines of the Škoda 130 RS, still bearing the scars of old rallies. Her hand paused on the hood of the BMW 535d, and she looked back at Lara, bewildered.

Amelia wasn't really impressed by Ivan's style...

“What kind of man collects... these?” Amelia asked, half amused, half horrified.

Lara chuckled, her smile tinged with nostalgia. “A complicated one,” she said. “He always had a weakness for cars, especially those with stories. This one”—she gestured to the red Škoda Forman with Czech plates—“was part of his youth. It’s a reminder of who he was before we met.”

Amelia’s gaze lingered on the Škoda Forman, a frown tugging at her lips. “I never pictured you with someone so... unconventional.”

Lara’s smile faded, and she stepped closer, her voice quiet but firm. “He was everything I never knew I needed. He taught me things I never would have learned on my own. About life, and loss, and love.”

Amelia looked away, clearly struggling to reconcile the man her daughter spoke of with the chaotic collection of automobiles before her. She tried to lighten the mood, throwing out a few lighthearted jokes about the Škodas—how they were infamous for breaking down at the worst possible moments or how they had a reputation for being the poor man’s car. Lara laughed, shaking her head, but the humor faded quickly.

“This was his past,” Lara said gently, placing a hand on her mother’s arm. “And it’s a part of me now, too.”

Back at Croft Manor, the fire crackled warmly in the hearth, casting a soft glow over the study. Lara led her mother into the room where the echoes of the past seemed to resonate with every creak of the old floorboards. A soft gasp escaped Amelia’s lips as she spotted an old photograph on the mantle—Lara in a simple yet elegant wedding dress, her arm linked with Ivan’s. He looked every inch the rogue he had always been, his eyes crinkled in a rare, genuine smile.

“Winston!” Lara called softly, and the elderly butler appeared as if by magic, a fond smile on his lips.

“It’s been too long, Miss Amelia,” he said, his voice filled with the warmth of years of service and loyalty. Amelia’s gaze drifted from the photograph to Winston’s face, reading the history there—the subtle sadness, the acceptance.

“You really did it,” Amelia said quietly, her eyes flicking back to the wedding picture. “You found someone.”

Lara’s throat tightened as she looked at the photo, at the man who had brought both chaos and stability into her life. She swallowed hard, a single tear slipping down her cheek. “Yes,” she whispered. “I did.”

Winston approached with a gentle nod, his expression solemn. “Ivan was a good man, Miss Croft. Flawed, perhaps, but he loved you more than anything.”

The room fell silent, and for a long moment, they simply stood there—the three of them, connected by the weight of the past and the hope of the future. Amelia reached out, gently brushing the corner of the wedding photo, as if she could feel the life her daughter had lived, the choices she had made, and the love she had found.

“Tell me more,” Amelia said finally, her voice wavering. “About him. About the adventures you shared.”

Lara smiled, a spark of the old fire returning to her eyes. “Oh, Mother,” she said, taking Amelia’s hand. “There’s so much to tell. Let’s start at the beginning.”

Chapter 4

Lara sat in her father’s old study, surrounded by blueprints and ancient diagrams scattered across the wide oak desk. The sunlight streamed in through the tall windows, casting long shadows over the faded papers. She traced her fingers over the sketched outlines of a device, the faint scent of old leather and paper filling the air. It was a familiar space, one she had returned to countless times, yet today it felt different—heavy with the weight of the past and the promise of the future.

She had seen the components before, tucked away in the corners of hidden temples and lost tombs, but it wasn’t until now that she began to understand them. The realization had come slowly, piece by piece, as she deciphered the notebooks Ivan had left behind—each page filled with cryptic instructions, diagrams of mechanisms, and the occasional scribbled joke about “fixing time like an old Škoda.”

Amelia, meanwhile, roamed Croft Manor, her footsteps echoing softly in the grand halls. She paused in the renovated gym, where modern equipment now stood alongside the older, more traditional training tools Lara had used growing up. The pool area was sleek and updated, a far cry from the old, damp chamber she remembered. But it was the small, dusty room tucked away near the kitchens—the one Ivan had claimed as his own—that caught her attention.

Pushing open the creaky door, Amelia was greeted by the familiar scent of engine oil and gunpowder. A battered workbench covered in car brochures stood against the far wall, next to a small cabinet filled with carefully maintained firearms. She picked up a faded leaflet for a 1969 Škoda 1000 MB, shaking her head with a bemused smile. It seemed Ivan’s obsession with obscure vehicles had known no bounds. She had always found his fascination with old cars slightly absurd, but now, looking at the room he had made his sanctuary, she felt a pang of unexpected sadness. She put the leaflet down and moved to the next—the Škoda 120, another relic from the past.

Back in the study, Lara leaned back in her chair, deep in thought. The blueprint was complete, the calculations checked and rechecked. Now, all she needed was a host for the machine—a vehicle that could withstand the rigors of time travel. She knew Ivan had always dreamt of something dramatic, something that would carry them into the past with a flourish. But she also knew it had to be practical and, above all, sturdy.

Amelia appeared at the doorway, holding another Škoda brochure in her hand. “What are you planning, Lara?” she asked, her voice wary. “This house has seen enough madness without you tampering with time.”

Lara turned to face her, holding up the rough sketches of the time machine. “I’m building it, Mother. The machine Ivan never finished. It’s our way back—to learn, to understand. But it needs to be mounted in something... well, mobile.”

Amelia’s eyes narrowed as she stepped further into the room. “You can’t be serious. An ordinary car can’t possibly handle the strain. It needs to be something with... substance.”

“That’s why it has to be the Super Estelle,” Lara replied, her tone firm. “It’s sturdy, reliable, and... well, it’s already been modified enough times. Ivan loved that car.”

Amelia laughed, shaking her head. “The Super Estelle? That red relic? Are you mad? We’re talking about time travel, not a countryside picnic.”

The argument was fierce and lasted well into the evening. Lara insisted that the Super Estelle was not just any car—it had history, it was sentimental, and it was the last car Ivan had tinkered with before he passed. Amelia countered that they needed something stronger, faster, and not a decades-old relic that Ivan had modified with little more than tape and sheer stubbornness.

But in the end, Lara’s resolve won out. The Super Estelle would be their time machine.

Together, they called Priscilla and Evelyn to the manor, explaining their plan with a mix of excitement and urgency. Priscilla, as always, was eager to dive into the adventure, while Evelyn’s skepticism was palpable. She eyed the Super Estelle, half-expecting it to fall apart at any moment.

“Are we really trusting our lives to this thing?” Evelyn asked, her tone tinged with disbelief as she crossed her arms.

“It’s not about the car,” Lara said with a grin. “It’s about the journey. Trust me.”

The following days were a whirlwind of activity. The garage echoed with the sound of tools clanging, metal grinding, and the occasional curse from Lara as she crawled under the car, tightening bolts and adjusting the delicate mechanisms that would allow the Super Estelle to breach the walls of time itself. Priscilla helped with the wiring, while Evelyn reluctantly checked the stability of the suspension. Amelia watched from the sidelines, torn between admiration for her daughter’s determination and concern over the madness of their plan.

Finally, the moment of truth arrived. The Super Estelle gleamed under the dim garage lights, its red paint polished to a high shine. The backseat was cramped with cables, metal plates, and the glowing core of the time machine—a device that hummed with a strange, otherworldly energy. Lara climbed into the driver’s seat, glancing back at her mother, who hesitated before climbing into the passenger seat. Priscilla squeezed into the back with Evelyn, who muttered a few choice words about their odds of survival.

The engine roared to life with a guttural growl, vibrating the floor beneath their feet. Lara’s heart pounded as she adjusted the dials on the dashboard, setting the coordinates to a time she had only heard about in old stories—a time before she was born, when Croft Manor was still untouched by the tragedies that had shaped her life.

“This is insane,” Evelyn muttered, clutching the armrest.

“No,” Priscilla replied, her eyes shining with anticipation. “This is awesome.”

Lara hit the switch. There was a deafening roar, a blinding flash of light, and a deep rumble that seemed to come from the very core of the earth. The Super Estelle shuddered violently, and a strange heat filled the cabin. For a moment, it felt like the car was being torn apart from the inside out—then, suddenly, the roar ceased.

Outside the windows, the familiar grounds of Croft Manor were gone, replaced by a wilder, untamed version of the estate. The ancient oaks were taller, the gardens less manicured, and the great house itself loomed large in the distance, free from the ravages of time. Amelia gasped, her eyes widening in recognition.

“This... this is the manor,” she whispered. “But it’s not how I remember it.”

“It’s before your time,” Lara said softly, her voice barely audible. “Before mine, too.”

She stared out at the world she had never seen—the Croft Manor of another era. A place untouched by loss, by fire, by the weight of a family’s legacy. It was a time she had only dreamed about, a chance to see everything as it once was. A lump formed in her throat as she gripped the steering wheel, feeling the strange pull of history drawing her deeper.

“Welcome to the past,” Lara said, her voice trembling.

Chapter 5

Lara and Amelia stepped out of the Super Estelle, their eyes wide as they took in the grandeur of Croft Manor in the 1920s. The house looked even more magnificent than Amelia had remembered—untouched by the renovations and fires of the modern era. The gardens were wild and vibrant, filled with roses and ivy that climbed the stone walls. The air was fresher, the colors brighter, and for a moment, it was as if time had truly stood still. Amelia’s eyes filled with a strange mix of nostalgia and disbelief as she reached out to touch the cool stone of the manor, tracing the vines with her fingertips.

Priscilla and Evelyn, meanwhile, wandered farther from the car, fascinated by the manicured lawns and the imposing architecture of the estate. It didn’t take long for them to realize where—or rather, when—they were. The faint sounds of a jazz band drifted through the open windows, and a passing maid, dressed in a starched black uniform with a crisp white apron, confirmed it: they were in the year 1920.

Hours passed like minutes as they mingled with the Croft family, blending seamlessly into the world of roaring twenties opulence. Amelia laughed for the first time in years, sharing old stories and letting the charm of her childhood estate wash over her. Lara watched her mother’s face, seeing the joy and sadness intermingling as Amelia relived the past. But Lara knew they couldn’t stay. As the sun dipped below the horizon and the golden light of dusk filled the sky, they made their polite farewells, slipping back towards the waiting car.

“Time to go,” Lara said, her voice gentle but firm. Amelia hesitated, her hand lingering on the doorway to the house, but then she nodded. They climbed back into the Super Estelle, and once again, the engine roared to life. A tremor shook the car as it accelerated, flames licking around the edges of the doors, and in an instant, they were swallowed by a blinding light.

When the world reappeared, they found themselves in a dusty parking lot, surrounded by cold, gray buildings. The smell of diesel hung heavy in the air, and the sky was overcast, casting a dreary pall over the landscape. In the distance, a massive concrete structure loomed—a set of military barracks. Lara’s eyes widened as she glanced around, the familiarity of the scene slowly dawning on her.

“Where are we?” Evelyn asked, her voice laced with confusion.

Lara’s gaze narrowed as she took in the foreign surroundings. “We’re in Czechoslovakia,” she said slowly, realization dawning. “It’s the 1970s.”

Amelia looked around, her eyes widening at the sight of the unfamiliar cars lining the streets—each one unmistakably Eastern European. Škodas were parked in neat rows, their boxy shapes unmistakable, and she spotted a few Trabants, their small frames and distinct two-stroke engines sputtering noisily. The streets were lined with gray, brutalist buildings, and there was a stillness in the air, as if the whole world were holding its breath.

Amelia’s face twisted in disbelief. “They really are everywhere, aren’t they? These old cars...” she said, her voice trailing off as she caught sight of a group of Trabants, their faded paint and hospital-like smell making her shudder. “And what is that awful stench?”

“Trabant exhaust,” Lara said with a grim smile. “You’ll get used to it.”

But Amelia did not look reassured. Instead, she seemed more unsettled, taking in the empty, quiet streets and the oppressive atmosphere. It was nothing like the England she had known—here, everything felt strange, foreign, and strangely forbidding.

The four women moved quietly, slipping past the rusting gate of the military base, and found themselves in the midst of a celebration. Soldiers in gray-green uniforms were laughing and dancing to the sound of a brass band playing an upbeat Czech folk song. The men’s laughter echoed in the chilly air, a stark contrast to the grim surroundings. And there, sitting alone at the edge of the festivities with a half-empty glass of beer, was a young man.

Lara’s breath caught. She recognized him instantly.

It was Ivan—years younger, with a stern, unlined face and a faraway look in his eyes. He was dressed in the uniform of the Czechoslovakian military, the insignia of the 601st Special Forces Brigade on his shoulder. He didn’t join in the celebration; instead, he stared into the distance, his expression one of quiet sorrow. Lara felt a chill pass through her, the weight of history pressing down on her shoulders.

Priscilla and Evelyn were equally stunned, their eyes wide as they took in the scene. Evelyn, who had only known Ivan as a middle-aged man full of energy and wit, seemed almost paralyzed by shock. She couldn’t reconcile this solemn, lonely figure with the man she had known.

“I-Is that him?” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.

Lara nodded, unable to tear her gaze away. “Yes. That’s Ivan.”

As they watched, Ivan drained his glass and rose to his feet, leaving the celebration behind. He moved with a quiet determination, climbing into a pristine Škoda 1000 MB—a car that, in this time, was still almost new. Without a word, he started the engine and drove away, the taillights disappearing into the gathering darkness.

“Come on,” Lara said, breaking the stunned silence. “We have to follow him.”

The Super Estelle roared to life once more as they followed Ivan through the winding streets of a small Czechoslovakian town, its buildings gray and nondescript under the dim streetlights. They drove in silence, the weight of the moment settling heavily over them. Amelia looked out the window, her expression one of growing unease as she saw more of the communist-era Czechoslovakia—so different from the world she had known.

At last, Ivan’s Škoda pulled into a small cemetery, the headlights cutting through the thick fog that clung to the ground. The women parked a short distance away, watching as Ivan climbed out of his car, carrying a simple bouquet of wildflowers. He moved slowly, each step heavy with grief, until he stopped before a pair of gravestones.

Lara and Priscilla exchanged a glance, knowing what was to come. They had heard this part of Ivan’s story, but seeing it unfold before them was a different kind of pain.

The names on the tombstone were clear in the dim light: Jindřich Tůma (1909 - 1956) and Františka Tůmová (1918 - 1969). Ivan knelt, placing the flowers gently on the grave, his expression unreadable. He stood there for a long time, head bowed, his lips moving in a quiet, private prayer.

Evelyn’s breath hitched, and she looked at Lara, her eyes wide with confusion and disbelief. This was not the man she had known—the adventurer, the rogue with a dry sense of humor. This was someone younger, someone wounded and still raw from the pain of loss. Amelia, too, was stunned, staring at Ivan’s solitary figure with a mixture of pity and curiosity. For her, this was another layer of a story she had never fully understood.

Finally, Ivan turned and walked back to his car, his face shadowed with sorrow. He drove away without a backward glance, leaving the cemetery as silent and still as they had found it.

Lara sat back in her seat, tears stinging her eyes. She knew they couldn’t stay. There were no words to be said, only the silent understanding of a history that could never be changed.

She started the Super Estelle, and with a deep breath, they drove away into the night, leaving the ghosts of the past behind them.

Chapter 6

The roar of the Super Estelle’s engine filled the quiet cemetery, its growl breaking the stillness as the women prepared to leave. But before they could drive away, something caught Lara’s eye. Through the haze of twilight, she saw a figure standing by his own Škoda—a young Ivan, staring at them with open astonishment. His eyes were wide as he took in the sight of the unfamiliar car, unlike any Škoda he had seen before. Its sharp lines, rally-style lights, and the steering wheel on the right-hand side—something unheard of in Czechoslovakia at the time—left him momentarily speechless.

Ivan's surprise only grew as he noticed the four women inside, all of them strikingly beautiful, staring back at him with an intensity that seemed to bend the very fabric of time. He raised a hesitant hand in greeting, a boyish grin spreading across his face. His eyes flicked to the rear of the car, where the chrome badge gleamed in the dim light: Super Estelle 130 LSE.

For a moment, his breath caught in his throat. This car was something from the future—an impossible machine that defied everything he knew. And before he could gather his thoughts, flames shot from the exhaust, engulfing the vehicle in a burst of light, and it vanished from his sight, leaving only the lingering smell of burnt rubber.

Inside the car, Lara, Priscilla, Evelyn, and Amelia exchanged bewildered glances as the Super Estelle hurtled forward through time once more. The world outside blurred, colors swirling into a dizzying vortex before solidifying again. They were no longer in the quiet Czechoslovakian town. Instead, they found themselves on the wide, cobblestone streets of Prague. The bustling city stretched out before them, alive with the hum of activity. Trams clattered along tracks, their red and cream exteriors rattling with the rhythm of a city that never truly slept.

Amelia peered out of the window, her eyes wide with wonder. “Where are we now?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Evelyn, who had been strangely silent since the encounter with young Ivan, glanced around before nodding with certainty. “It’s Prague. And... it’s 1975.”

They drove through the streets, marveling at the Soviet-era architecture mingling with Gothic spires and Art Nouveau facades. It was a Prague both familiar and alien—caught between the grandeur of the past and the heavy-handed modernism of the communist era.

Lara’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as they rolled through the city, her mind racing with thoughts of Ivan and the life she never truly knew. Then, as they passed a small auto dealership on a narrow side street, something made her stop. Her breath hitched, and she felt her heart lurch in her chest.

There, on the sidewalk, stood a young couple. The man was tall, his hair dark and thick, his posture proud and upright—the same man they had just seen at the cemetery, only a few years older. Beside him was a woman, visibly pregnant, her face kind and gentle, her hand resting tenderly on her rounded belly.

“It’s him,” Priscilla whispered, her voice breaking the stunned silence inside the car.

Lara nodded, her throat tight as she watched the scene unfold. They had arrived just in time to witness a private moment, one that had been lost to history.

They climbed out of the car, hearts pounding, and crept closer, blending into the small crowd that had gathered around the auto dealership. Lara’s eyes were fixed on the couple, who seemed completely unaware of their presence. They were speaking with a salesman, gesturing toward a car—a sleek, yellow Škoda 110 R, its sporty lines standing out against the dull, practical vehicles around it.

As Lara listened, snippets of their conversation drifted to her. She heard the woman’s name—Klára—and the way Ivan spoke to her with a gentleness she had never associated with him. His voice was calm, steady, filled with a kind of tenderness that tugged at something deep inside Lara’s chest.

“They’re buying the car,” Evelyn murmured, her gaze flicking between Lara and the couple. “His first family...”

Lara could hardly believe what she was seeing. She knew the yellow Škoda 110 R well—it had been Ivan’s pride and joy, the car he had always talked about with a mixture of fondness and regret. Years later, after Ivan had moved to England, she had bought him another one—an identical model—as a gift. It had been a gesture of understanding, a way of connecting with the part of his life she had never been part of. She had seen photographs of him with that car, the same photos he had kept tucked away, showing a different life, a different Ivan.

Now, she was witnessing the original moment—the day he had bought it with Klára, his first wife, standing by his side. A lump formed in Lara’s throat as she realized just how much she had never known about Ivan, how many stories he had kept to himself.

As she stood there, watching Ivan laugh and lean closer to Klára, who smiled up at him with pure adoration, she felt a strange sensation—an aching mix of longing and acceptance. This was a part of his life she could never touch, a chapter that had closed long before she had ever known him.

Tears pricked at Lara’s eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Instead, she took a step back, signaling the others to do the same. They retreated quietly, unnoticed by the couple who were too wrapped up in the joy of their moment to notice four strangers from another time.

They returned to the Super Estelle, the weight of the past heavy on their shoulders. The car, which had become their strange and unexpected time machine, sat waiting—its red paint gleaming under the dim streetlights of a Prague evening.

Lara wiped at her eyes and climbed back into the driver’s seat. “Let’s go,” she said, her voice hoarse but steady.

As they drove away, she caught one last glimpse of Ivan in the rearview mirror—standing beside the yellow Škoda, laughing with Klára, his hand resting protectively on her shoulder. Then, flames once more shot from the exhaust, and the city blurred around them, disappearing into a blinding flash of light.

The past faded, replaced by the relentless pull of the future, and Lara knew that some stories were never meant to be altered—only witnessed, treasured, and ultimately, let go.

Chapter 7

The world around them spun and blurred until the Super Estelle jolted to a halt with a final, shuddering thud. The familiar dizziness from time travel faded, and they found themselves parked in front of a bleak, grey building. A neon sign flickered above the entrance, barely visible in the dim light of a cloudy evening: Nemocnice Na Františku. Evelyn glanced at her watch, the small dial confirming what they already suspected—1980.

The hospital's façade loomed over them, a stark reminder of the Soviet era—utilitarian, cold, and uninviting. Lara killed the engine, and the four women stepped out of the car. The chill in the air made them shiver, but it wasn’t just the cold that sent a shudder through them—it was the heavy sense of foreboding, the knowledge that they were about to witness yet another painful chapter of Ivan’s life.

With hesitant steps, they made their way inside, the hospital’s sterile, white corridors stretching endlessly ahead of them. They passed doctors in faded white coats and nurses with tired eyes, moving through the dimly lit hallways with a sense of urgency. Somewhere, an old radio crackled with a mournful Czech folk song.

Evelyn, checking her watch again, led them down a series of hallways until they reached a waiting room—a cold, impersonal space with worn-out chairs and flickering fluorescent lights. There, sitting hunched over, was Ivan, his face etched with exhaustion and grief. Beside him, two young children sat quietly—one a girl, with solemn eyes and a tight grip on Ivan’s hand, the other a boy, fidgeting in his seat with a restless energy that seemed out of place in the oppressive atmosphere.

Lara’s breath caught in her throat as she realized who they were—Ivan’s children. The ones he had never spoken much about, the ones whose existence had always seemed like a shadowy footnote in the story of his life. She watched in silence, feeling a pang of sorrow and helplessness.

But it was Priscilla who gasped first, her face paling as she looked at the boy. There was something familiar about him, something in the set of his jaw and the way his eyes darted around the room. She took a step closer, her heart pounding.

“That’s... that’s my father,” Priscilla whispered, her voice trembling. “That’s Adam.”

Lara’s eyes widened, and she shot a glance at Priscilla, whose face had gone ashen. A swirl of emotions washed over them—astonishment, confusion, and a creeping sense of fate tying their destinies together. This moment was no accident.

They moved closer, blending into the shadows at the edge of the room, careful not to draw attention to themselves. Ivan was speaking softly to the children, his voice heavy with a sorrow that made Lara’s heart ache. She strained to listen, her understanding of Czech allowing her to pick up the hushed conversation.

Then, the words hit her like a blow to the chest. “She was stillborn,” Ivan said, his voice breaking. His shoulders slumped, his hand tightening around the little girl’s fingers. The children said nothing, their young faces too serious for their age, mirroring the deep grief of the man they called their father.

Lara felt her eyes burn with unshed tears. The raw anguish in Ivan’s voice, the way he held onto his children as if they were the only thing anchoring him to this world—it was a side of him she had never seen. In that moment, he wasn’t the daring treasure hunter, the gruff adventurer, or the wise-cracking ally she had known. He was a man broken by loss, carrying a burden that had carved deep lines into his face long before she had met him.

From the corner of her eye, Lara saw Klára emerging from a nearby room. Her face was pale, drawn, her eyes hollow with a grief that seemed to have hollowed her out from the inside. She moved like a ghost, barely acknowledging Ivan or the children, as if the weight of what had happened had severed her from reality.

Lara took a shaky step back, unable to look any longer. There was a part of her that wanted to reach out, to comfort the woman who had loved Ivan before her, to share in a pain that transcended time and history. But she knew she couldn’t. This was a wound that belonged to another life, another time—a moment that no words could ever make right.

“We need to go,” Lara whispered, her voice barely more than a breath.

Priscilla’s eyes were wide, filled with tears she fought to keep from spilling. Evelyn’s face was a mask of shock, her fingers trembling against the strap of her bag. Amelia, usually so composed, looked utterly devastated, her gaze fixed on the fragile scene unfolding before them.

Without another word, they slipped out of the waiting room and back into the hospital corridors, the sterile scent of antiseptic and despair clinging to their clothes. The sound of muffled sobs followed them, echoing off the cold tile floors as they fled down the hallway.

Back outside, the night had deepened, the sky a blanket of blackness pierced only by the dim streetlights lining the empty streets. They climbed back into the Super Estelle, the engine sputtering to life as if reluctant to carry them away from the scene they had just witnessed. Lara’s hands were shaking as she gripped the steering wheel, her mind a whirlwind of emotions—grief, confusion, empathy.

The car lurched forward, its tires squealing against the wet pavement as they sped away from the hospital. No one spoke. The only sound was the hum of the engine, the rush of air through the open windows, and the distant wail of a siren cutting through the night.

As the Super Estelle gathered speed, the familiar flames began to lick at the doors, growing brighter, more intense. The lights of the city blurred into streaks of color, the world spinning faster and faster until it vanished entirely, leaving them once more adrift in the endless void of time.

Lara closed her eyes, feeling the tears finally slip down her cheeks. She knew, now more than ever, that their journey through time was not about altering the past, but about understanding it—seeing the truths hidden in the shadows of those they loved, and finding a way to carry those stories forward, even when they couldn’t change them.

As the flames faded and the world began to reform around them, Lara felt a quiet determination settle in her chest. She couldn’t save Ivan from his losses, couldn’t rewrite the story that had already been lived. But she could remember. She could honor his struggles, his sacrifices, and the broken pieces of his heart that had made him the man she had known and loved.

The Super Estelle finally slowed to a stop, and Lara opened her eyes to the sight of a new landscape—a new chapter waiting to be uncovered.

Chapter 8

The world settled around them, the shimmering flames fading as the Super Estelle came to a rattling halt. They were parked by a narrow country road, surrounded by golden fields swaying gently in the summer breeze. It was a quiet, almost idyllic scene—except for the persistent knot of dread tightening in Lara’s chest. She glanced at Evelyn, who checked her fitness watch with a slight frown.

“August, 1985,” Evelyn murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

The air was warm and heavy, the faint scent of hay drifting through the open windows. The road ahead curved lazily around a bend, and Lara had a sinking feeling they were about to witness something significant—something they weren’t meant to change, only to witness. She eased the car back onto the road, the tires crunching on loose gravel, and the familiar rumble of the engine a comforting reminder of the present, even as they sped through the past.

Then, up ahead, they saw it—a flash of yellow in the sunlight. It was unmistakable. A yellow Škoda 110 R, the same car that Ivan had kept for so many years, lovingly polished and maintained even after it had become a relic of the past. Lara’s grip tightened on the steering wheel as she slowed the Super Estelle to a crawl, instinctively pulling over to the side of the road, hidden by a thick cluster of trees.

The yellow Škoda drove past them, and in the driver's seat was Klára—Ivan’s first wife. Her face, illuminated by the sun, seemed serene and calm as she navigated the winding road. They watched in silence, their car idling, the engine’s low hum blending with the distant chirping of cicadas.

Then it happened. A blur of motion in the rearview mirror—a Zhiguli, speeding recklessly around the bend, collided with the back of Klára’s Škoda, the impact sending it spinning out of control. The car veered wildly across the center line, straight into the path of a massive Tatra 148 truck, painted in the colors of the local ČSAD.

Lara felt the breath leave her lungs in a horrified gasp as metal crunched, the sound of the collision echoing across the fields like a thunderclap. The yellow Škoda crumpled under the force of the impact, and in an instant, it was over. The scene was eerily silent, the only movement the slow drift of dust settling back onto the road.

They sat there, frozen, not daring to breathe. Evelyn’s hand was pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. Priscilla looked pale, her knuckles white as she gripped the seat. Even Amelia, usually composed, seemed stunned into silence, her gaze fixed on the wreckage.

They remained in their hidden spot, the tall grass partially obscuring their view, as other cars began to pull over—bystanders rushing to the scene, shouting in panic, waving their arms to flag down help. But it was the red car that caught Amelia’s eye—a familiar, unmistakable Škoda 120 GLS, almost identical to their own Super Estelle. The sight of it made her breath hitch, and she nudged Lara, pointing toward the vehicle with a trembling finger.

Lara followed her mother’s gaze, her heart skipping a beat as she recognized the car. She watched in stunned silence as the driver’s side door opened and Ivan stepped out, his face pale and stricken, his eyes wide with disbelief. He moved with a strange, mechanical stiffness, his gaze fixed on the twisted remains of Klára’s car. Slowly, he approached, his steps faltering as he caught sight of his wife’s lifeless form, crushed and broken in the driver’s seat.

Lara felt something in her chest tighten and crack, an unfamiliar pain that made it hard to breathe. She had seen Ivan face countless dangers, had fought alongside him in the darkest and most perilous places. But she had never seen him like this—utterly shattered, the weight of his grief pulling him to his knees beside the wreckage. His shoulders shook, and though she couldn’t hear him, Lara knew he was sobbing, raw and broken.

Amelia turned to Lara, her eyes wide with shock and confusion. She had never seen her daughter cry—not since she was a child. But now, tears were streaming down Lara’s face, silent and unchecked, glistening in the summer sunlight. It was as if the floodgates had opened, and all the grief, the understanding of Ivan’s pain, his constant worry for her safety, came rushing out.

Lara understood now why Ivan had been so protective, why he had kept parts of his past hidden, locked away where even she couldn’t reach them. He had lost everything he loved once before, and the scars had never healed, buried beneath the hard exterior he had built to keep the pain at bay.

Amelia’s face softened with a tenderness Lara had not seen in years. She reached out and pulled her daughter close, holding her as she cried, stroking her hair with a gentle hand. “It’s all right,” Amelia whispered, her voice breaking with emotion. “It’s all right to cry for him.”

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, the summer breeze rustling the leaves above them, mingling with the distant sound of voices and sirens as help finally arrived at the scene of the crash. Ivan remained by the wreckage, motionless, his grief so overwhelming that it seemed to warp the very air around him.

Eventually, Lara pulled away, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Her face was set, her expression calm once more, but the sadness lingered in her eyes—a deep, abiding sorrow that would never fully leave her.

She understood now why Ivan had always hesitated, why he had kept her at a distance when they first met. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, or that he doubted her strength. It was because he couldn’t bear the thought of watching history repeat itself. He had wanted to protect her, to save her from the same fate that had claimed Klára’s life.

As they climbed back into the Super Estelle, the car seemed to sense their shared grief, its engine purring softly as if offering comfort. Lara didn’t start the ignition right away. Instead, she took a deep breath, her fingers brushing the worn leather of the steering wheel, and looked back at the scene one last time.

The past was a place of sorrow and loss, but it was also a part of who Ivan had been—of who she had become because of him. With a determined exhale, she turned the key, and the engine roared to life. Flames flickered once more at the edges of the car, brighter and hotter than before, and in a rush of light and heat, they were gone.

As the world around them blurred and shifted, Lara reached for Amelia’s hand and squeezed it. No matter where—or when—they went, she wouldn’t forget what she had seen. And she wouldn’t forget the man who had loved her enough to try and keep her safe, even from himself.

Chapter 9

The engine of the Super Estelle roared to life, and with a familiar burst of light and flame, the world around them shifted and blurred. When it settled, they found themselves parked on a dirt path overlooking a wide expanse of water—the Slapy Reservoir, its waters dark and churning under a gray, overcast sky. A cold wind whipped across the surface, carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth.

Lara’s eyes narrowed, her expression sharpening with recognition. “1989,” she said quietly, her voice carrying a weight of knowing. Priscilla nodded in agreement, her gaze scanning the shoreline with a sense of anticipation. But beside them, both Amelia and Evelyn looked disoriented, their eyes wide with confusion as they took in their surroundings.

“What is this place?” Evelyn asked, rubbing her arms to fend off the sudden chill.

Before Lara could answer, the rumble of an approaching vehicle drew their attention. From the far side of the reservoir, a military UAZ jeep appeared, bouncing down the uneven dirt road. It skidded to a stop, the engine idling, and the doors swung open. Evelyn’s breath caught in her throat, and Amelia’s face paled as they watched a figure step out—a woman in a sleek black and yellow wetsuit, standing tall and determined. Her face was unmistakable.

“It’s you,” Amelia whispered, her eyes darting between Lara sitting beside her and the Lara across the reservoir. The resemblance was uncanny—identical, down to the smallest detail.

Lara nodded slowly, her gaze fixed on her younger self. “That’s how it all started.”

As the younger Lara moved toward the water’s edge, adjusting the straps on her scuba gear, Evelyn’s attention shifted to the opposite bank. A familiar red car was trundling down a dirt path—a Škoda 120 GLS, identical to the one they had seen earlier. It came to a stop, and Ivan, dressed casually in a worn fishing jacket, emerged from the driver’s seat. He moved with a relaxed ease, retrieving a fishing rod from the trunk and setting up a small stool at the water’s edge, seemingly oblivious to the strange convergence of events unfolding around him.

Lara’s expression softened as she watched him, a faint, nostalgic smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “That’s Ivan,” she said simply. “Before everything... when he was still a detective, just trying to enjoy his day off.”

Ivan, unaware that history was watching him, set up his fishing gear with practiced efficiency. He cast his line into the water, settling down with a sigh, his gaze drifting lazily over the surface. Then his attention sharpened, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the woman in the wetsuit across the water, adjusting a radio transmitter on her belt.

Amelia leaned forward, her eyes wide with shock. “What is she doing?”

“She’s hunting for something,” Lara replied, her tone distant. “I was looking for the Philosopher’s Stone back then. There was a rumor it was hidden in the depths of Slapy.”

Ivan’s brows furrowed in curiosity as he squinted through a pair of binoculars. He watched as the younger Lara tested the radio signal, adjusting the dials on her equipment with a look of intense concentration. Then, without a moment’s hesitation, she took a deep breath, raised her arms, and performed a perfect swan dive off the rocky ledge into the cold, dark waters below.

The splash echoed across the reservoir, startling the fish and sending ripples spreading out in all directions. Ivan lowered the binoculars with a frustrated sigh, muttering under his breath about disrupted fishing, and reached into the Škoda’s glove compartment for his police radio. “She’s scaring the fish away,” he grumbled, fumbling with the controls. His annoyance shifted to concern as he adjusted the frequency, noticing a familiar face on a wanted poster tucked into his fishing bag—a face that matched the woman who had just disappeared into the depths.

He hesitated, a look of conflicted indecision crossing his features. Then he pressed the radio’s transmit button, his voice terse and urgent. “This is Ivan. I’ve got eyes on the suspect—the diver from the bulletin. If anyone’s nearby, send support. Over.”

The radio crackled in response, a burst of static mingling with Ivan’s anxious muttering. But then, to Amelia and Evelyn’s surprise, his tone softened. It was as if he was speaking to someone he already knew. The frustration melted away, replaced by a gentle coaxing, as though he were addressing an old friend. They couldn’t make out all the words, but it was clear he was trying to reason with her, to convince her to come back to the surface.

“What is he doing?” Evelyn asked, bewildered.

Lara’s smile widened, her eyes misty with memory. “That’s how we met,” she said. “He was supposed to arrest me... but instead, he tried to talk to me. It wasn’t the first time we crossed paths, but it was the first time we really saw each other.”

Before they could ask more, movement in the water drew their attention. Dark bubbles began to rise from the depths, churning the surface into a frothy turmoil. The sight made Amelia go white, her hand flying to her mouth in a silent gasp. “Is she... is she going to drown?”

Ivan had noticed it too. Panic flared in his eyes as he dropped the radio, scrambling to untie a small rowboat moored nearby. His hands were shaking as he worked, his eyes darting back to the water where the bubbles were growing larger and more frantic. He threw himself into the boat, fumbling with the oars as he pushed off from the shore, his movements wild with fear.

From the other side of the reservoir, the world seemed to erupt into chaos. Police cars screeched to a halt on the muddy bank, their blue lights flashing wildly, joined by a clattering convoy of VB armored vehicles and a medical ambulance. Figures in dark uniforms spilled out, barking orders, their attention fixed on the same spot where Ivan was desperately searching.

“He called in the entire apparatus of Czechoslovakia,” Lara said quietly, a note of wry amusement in her voice. “They thought I was up to something dangerous. I was just looking for a myth.”

Amelia’s eyes were glued to the scene, to the figure of Ivan leaning over the edge of his boat, scanning the surface with a growing desperation. It was clear that he was no longer a detective doing his duty—he was a man who, for reasons he didn’t fully understand, couldn’t bear to let that woman drown.

Suddenly, there was a shout. The police had called in divers, and within minutes, a team of them were slipping into the water, their black suits blending into the dark depths. The search seemed to drag on forever, each moment stretching into an eternity, until finally—finally—a shout of triumph echoed across the reservoir. The divers surfaced, dragging a limp figure between them, her wetsuit gleaming wetly in the harsh light.

Ivan’s face crumpled with relief, his shoulders sagging as he saw her pulled into the waiting ambulance. He climbed out of his boat, watching with wide, stunned eyes as the medics worked frantically to stabilize her. There was a tenderness in his expression, a raw, vulnerable hope that seemed to soften the edges of his stern features.

“She survived,” Lara said softly, a strange, bittersweet smile on her lips. “And he stayed with me, all the way to the hospital. He wouldn’t leave until he knew I was going to be all right.”

The flames returned, engulfing the Super Estelle in a brilliant, blinding light, and the world shifted once more. As they disappeared from the reservoir, Evelyn and Amelia could only stare, their minds struggling to make sense of what they had witnessed. But for Lara, it was enough. She had seen the moment when her story with Ivan truly began—the spark that had ignited everything that came after.

And this time, she didn’t have to witness it alone.

Chapter 10

With a final lurch and a flash of light, the Super Estelle settled into a quiet, cobbled street, its engine echoing off the tall, old buildings of Prague. The sky was a heavy gray, clouds promising rain, and the air carried the rich, warm scent of roasted meats and woodsmoke. Outside, a wooden sign swayed gently in the breeze, announcing the name of the local pub. According to Evelyn’s watch, they had landed in 1979.

Lara, Priscilla, Amelia, and Evelyn exchanged confused glances before slipping out of the car. The Super Estelle’s doors shut with a solid thud, and they walked hesitantly toward the entrance. A soft murmur of conversation, clinking glasses, and the faint strains of music drifted out, carried by the warmth and coziness of the pub’s dimly lit interior.

The quartet hesitated for a moment at the threshold, feeling the strange tug of time and history swirl around them, then pushed open the heavy wooden door. Inside, the pub was a haze of cigarette smoke and laughter, filled with clusters of locals deep in conversation. The walls were lined with old photographs, and a worn wooden bar stretched across one side, the shelves behind it brimming with bottles. The smell of beer and fried food mingled in the air.

They settled into a corner table, ordering Pilsner Urquell for everyone except Lara, who opted for a simple glass of water. As they waited, they listened to the lively hum of the crowd. Suddenly, their attention was drawn to a small stage at the far end of the room.

A young Ivan, barely recognizable without his usual aura of seriousness, sat on a stool with a battered banjo resting on his knee. His face, though familiar, looked different—full of a youthful energy, his eyes shining with a playful light. He adjusted the strings with practiced ease, and the room quieted, all eyes turning to the stage.

The moment he started playing, the atmosphere shifted. Ivan’s fingers moved with astonishing speed over the strings, and he launched into a lively rendition of "Prodavač" by Michal Tučný, his voice loud and sure, singing in a rapid-fire rhythm that left everyone in the room mesmerized.

He belted out the lyrics with infectious enthusiasm:

"Pojďte všichni dovnitř, pozvěte si všechny známé,

my vám dobrou radu dáme, neboť právě otvíráme,

prodáváme, vyděláme, co kdo chcete, tak to máme,

co nemáme, objednáme, všechno víme, všechno známe, poradíme, posloužíme"

The words poured out of him, each line faster than the last, a cascade of images—selling laughter to girls, sunshine, and even air, a playful lament that love couldn’t be bought. His fingers danced over the banjo’s strings, each note ringing clear and bright, filling the pub with a joyful energy that had the patrons tapping their feet and laughing along.

"Pět deka, deset deka, dvacet deka, třicet deka,

kilo chleba, kilo cukru, jeden rohlík, jedna veka,

všechno máme, co kdo chcete, obchod kvete, jen si račte říct,

čtyři kila, deset kilo, dvacet kilo, třicet kilo

navážíme, zabalíme, klaníme se, to by bylo,

prosím pěkně, mohu nechat o jedenáct deka víc?"

Evelyn’s eyes were wide with shock as she leaned closer, her mouth hanging open. “He’s... he’s incredible,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the laughter and clapping that filled the pub. Even Amelia, who had struggled to reconcile the Ivan she’d known from Lara’s stories with the man she’d seen in his darkest moments, couldn’t help but smile.

Lara watched with a stunned expression, her eyes glistening as the rapid lyrics spilled out of Ivan’s mouth, each one full of a bittersweet humor that spoke of a simpler, freer time—a time before responsibilities and tragedies had weighed him down.

Priscilla shook her head, her voice full of amazement. “I didn’t know he could play like that,” she said softly. “Or that he’d sing... and in Czech!”

The song ended with a flourish, the final note hanging in the air as Ivan threw back his head and laughed, the sound deep and warm, full of a joy that none of them had ever heard from him before. The pub erupted into applause, and Ivan stood, bowing dramatically as he wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.

The quartet sat in stunned silence for a long moment, until the clinking of glasses and renewed conversation around them reminded them where they were. Without another word, they slipped out of the pub, leaving the echo of Ivan’s laughter behind them.

Outside, the rain had begun to fall, a gentle patter that seemed to wash away the strange mixture of emotions the performance had stirred. They climbed back into the Super Estelle, each of them quiet and reflective, processing what they had just seen. Lara took the driver’s seat, her expression unreadable, and the engine purred to life once more.

As they drove away, the headlights cutting through the rain, Evelyn glanced down at her fitness watch, which shimmered slightly in the darkness, displaying the new time. 1972.

The flames appeared again, but this time, they were softer—less jarring—more like the flickering glow of a campfire than the violent eruption they had come to expect. The Estelle shuddered, then settled back into another time, the familiar hum of the engine mingling with the steady beat of rain on the roof.

For now, the next chapter of Ivan’s past awaited them.

Chapter 11

The Škoda Super Estelle shuddered violently before it finally stopped, expelling its passengers with a dramatic hiss of hydraulics and a creak of its worn-out suspension. Lara, Priscilla, and Amelia stumbled out, brushing dust off their clothes and squinting against the afternoon sun. Around them, a sleepy village near Prostějov stretched in timeless stillness, with its red-tiled rooftops, low stone walls, and the occasional clucking of chickens in small, fenced yards.

"Why does every trip back in time feel like being thrown out of a saloon in the Wild West?" Priscilla muttered, massaging her shoulder where the seatbelt had dug in during the abrupt stop.

“Because the Super Estelle clearly wasn’t designed for interdimensional travel,” Amelia quipped, leaning on her cane. She cast a curious glance around. “I must admit, though, this feels strangely nostalgic. Like stepping into a postcard.”

Lara, who had taken a few steps toward a low, crumbling wall, suddenly froze. “Look over there,” she said, gesturing toward a nearby house with peeling paint.

Through the window, they spotted a young man in a crisp Československá lidová armáda uniform. His polished boots clicked sharply against the cobblestone as he emerged with a stack of papers in one hand and a stern expression on his face. Even from this distance, the distinctive silhouette of Ivan was unmistakable, albeit much younger. He carried himself with the energy of someone who hadn’t yet been burdened by the complexities of life.

“Mother, that’s him,” Lara said, her voice low but tinged with disbelief.

Amelia raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smile. “Well, I’ll be damned. That is Ivan. Look at him—young, fresh, and oblivious to what life has in store. Let’s see what he does next.”

Ivan glanced at a watch strapped to his wrist before breaking into a sprint. His long strides carried him toward a bus idling at the edge of the square, its engine sputtering like an old smoker. The women watched as he waved frantically at the driver, but the bus chugged away, indifferent to his desperation.

"Good lord, he’s fast,” Priscilla murmured, her jaw slack.

But Ivan wasn’t deterred. Instead, he changed course, running after a Robur LO 2500 truck trundling down the road, its flatbed carrying two young women dressed in vibrant floral patterns. With an agility that defied explanation, he leapt onto the truck's tailgate, steadying himself with one hand and flashing a roguish grin at the passengers.

Amelia chuckled. “Charming his way onto military transport. Classic Ivan.”

The Robur rumbled into Prostějov, and the trio decided to follow. They arrived just in time to see Ivan hopping off the truck in front of a sprawling military barracks. With a quick salute to the driver, he dashed toward the gates, his uniform flapping in the wind.

The women hesitated outside the imposing entrance, unsure of how to proceed. “Let’s observe for now,” Lara suggested, pulling out binoculars from her satchel.

From a concealed vantage point, they watched the day unfold. The once-quiet streets surrounding the barracks became alive with the hum of activity. Helicopters roared overhead, their shadows casting fleeting darkness over the ground. Blue Veřejná bezpečnost patrol cars sped by, their lights flashing ominously as they coordinated with the soldiers on the ground.

“He’s in the middle of some kind of drill,” Priscilla whispered, her eyes wide as she watched Ivan weaving expertly through the chaos, barking orders to subordinates and narrowly avoiding mock ambushes.

Amelia adjusted her glasses, impressed. “I have to admit, he’s a natural. But the stamina! Did you see him run earlier? And now this? Makes me wonder if he ever slowed down—even in our timeline.”

The hours passed as the women tracked Ivan’s movements through the labyrinthine training exercises. He climbed obstacles, directed simulated combat maneuvers, and even had time to share a laugh with his comrades while polishing his rifle. By the end of the day, as the sun dipped below the horizon, they saw him again—this time with a new insignia glinting on his shoulder.

“He’s been promoted,” Lara noted, her tone soft. There was a hint of pride in her voice.

Standing in the twilight, Ivan looked older, more serious, as if the weight of his new responsibilities had settled on his shoulders. Yet, there was still that glimmer of determination in his eyes, the same glimmer that Lara had always known. It was a bittersweet moment.

As they prepared to leave, Amelia couldn’t resist one last observation. “You know, this all explains why he was so damn good at dodging responsibilities later in life. He practiced dodging bullets first.”

Lara chuckled despite herself, adjusting her satchel. “Mother, you do realize this was the man I married, right?”

“Yes, dear. And you married a soldier, a scoundrel, and a survivor all in one. What more could a Croft ask for?”

Chapter 12

The Škoda Super Estelle sputtered and jolted violently as it once again breached the fabric of time and space. The passengers—Lara, Amelia, Priscilla, and Evelyn—braced themselves as the car skidded to an abrupt halt, sending up a cloud of dust. The engine coughed a final, dramatic wheeze before settling into silence.

“Where in the world are we now?” Amelia asked, clutching the dashboard tightly. Her voice carried an edge of exasperation, though there was a distinct tremor beneath it.

Priscilla, looking entirely unfazed, leaned back in her seat and peered out the grimy window. Evelyn, seated next to her, stretched casually as if they’d merely pulled into a roadside diner. “I think we’re in Sarajevo,” Priscilla said nonchalantly.

“Not just Sarajevo,” Evelyn added, her tone matter-of-fact. “Sarajevo in 1995.”

The words hung heavily in the stale air of the car. Lara froze, her hands still gripping the steering wheel. “1995?” she repeated, her voice low and steady, though an unmistakable flicker of unease passed across her face.

“Yes,” Evelyn confirmed, gesturing toward the bullet-riddled buildings surrounding them. “Look at the state of the place. Mid-siege Sarajevo if I had to guess.”

Amelia’s eyes widened as she took in the ruins around them. Shells of buildings stood as silent witnesses to the destruction that had unfolded. The streets were lined with debris—shattered glass, burnt-out cars, and the remnants of lives abruptly interrupted. “My God…” she whispered. “This… this isn’t history. This is a nightmare.”

Lara said nothing, her eyes scanning the devastation. She had seen many battlefields, but this was different. The scars here weren’t ancient or eroded by time. They were fresh, raw, and deeply human.

Amelia, shaken, turned to Lara. “How could this have happened in the modern world? Didn’t anyone try to stop this madness?”

Priscilla let out a soft, almost bitter laugh. “You’d be surprised how often people look the other way, even when it’s their job not to.”

Evelyn nodded, her gaze fixed ahead. “It’s not just history, Amelia. It’s politics, egos, and sometimes just plain indifference. That’s how things like this happen.”

The car lurched forward again, though none of them could recall who had restarted it. As the Škoda crawled cautiously through the city, they passed gutted homes, empty playgrounds, and walls peppered with bullet holes. Occasionally, they caught glimpses of civilians hurrying through the streets, their faces pale and drawn. The air felt thick with tension, even decades later.

Then, as they rounded a corner, they saw him.

Ivan.

He stood in the middle of the street, a UN helmet perched atop his head, his uniform marked with the insignia of a major. He was gripping an assault rifle, his expression grim and unyielding as he took aim at a battered civilian car speeding toward him.

For a split second, Lara thought the car might stop. But instead, it accelerated, veering slightly as if to avoid Ivan but not enough to surrender its path. Without hesitation, Ivan opened fire. Bullets riddled the vehicle’s hood and windshield, and it screeched to a halt just meters away from him.

The women in the Škoda watched in stunned silence as Ivan approached the car cautiously, his weapon still trained on the driver. He barked an order in a language none of them could hear clearly. The driver, a man in a military uniform, stumbled out of the car with his hands raised. A patch on his shoulder identified him as a Serbian officer.

Amelia gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “He’s… he’s shooting at civilians?”

Priscilla shook her head. “Not civilians. That’s no civilian car, and that’s no innocent man.”

Evelyn leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. “He’s clearly in the middle of something. This isn’t random.”

Lara didn’t say a word. Her eyes were fixed on Ivan, her mind racing. He had never mentioned Sarajevo. Never mentioned serving with the UN, much less as a major during the siege. She had known about some of his missions, the ones he chose to share, but this? This was an entirely different side of him—one he had clearly buried deep.

Amelia, still visibly shaken, turned to Lara. “How could he not tell you about this? How could you not know?”

Lara exhaled slowly, her hands tightening on the steering wheel. “Mother, Ivan was a man of secrets. Even in death, it seems I’m only just beginning to uncover them. But seeing this…” She trailed off, her voice breaking slightly before she regained her composure. “I think I understand why he never told me.”

They continued to watch as Ivan signaled to a group of soldiers nearby. Together, they secured the Serbian officer and began inspecting the car, pulling out crates and documents. Whatever was happening, it was deliberate and calculated.

Amelia shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “He always seemed so… jovial. I never imagined…”

Lara finally turned to face her mother, her expression unreadable. “Mother, the man I married was many things. A soldier, a spy, a survivor. But above all, he was a pragmatist. Whatever he did, he had a reason for it. Even if it’s one we might not understand.”

Amelia sighed, leaning back against the seat. “I suppose that’s true. But seeing him like this… it’s hard to reconcile.”

As the Škoda idled quietly in the shadows, the women watched Ivan for a few more moments before he disappeared into the chaos of Sarajevo. For Lara, it was yet another puzzle piece in the complex, often contradictory picture of the man she had loved—and perhaps never fully known.

Chapter 13

The Škoda Super Estelle groaned as it materialized in a dusty lot, the skyline of Southampton looming in the distance. Lara tightened her grip on the steering wheel, her knuckles white against the leather. She wasn’t ready for this, not here, not now.

Amelia, seated beside her, immediately sensed the shift in her daughter’s demeanor. “Lara,” she began gently, her eyes scanning the industrial surroundings, “what is it? What’s wrong?”

Lara didn’t respond at first. Her gaze was fixed ahead, where a line of warehouses stretched like jagged teeth against the horizon. “This place,” she said finally, her voice low and tight, “it’s… complicated.”

Priscilla and Evelyn, seated in the back, exchanged a glance but stayed silent. They could tell this was no ordinary destination.

The Škoda rumbled into one of the warehouse compounds, its tires crunching over gravel. The building loomed dark and foreboding, its corrugated metal sides tarnished with rust and neglect. Amelia looked to her daughter again, concern etched deeply into her face. “Lara, what happened here?”

But before Lara could answer, a horrifying sight stopped them all in their tracks. Through the cracked and grimy window of the warehouse, they saw another Lara—or what appeared to be her. She was bound to a steel support beam, her head slumped forward, her body covered in bruises. Around her stood a group of men, their laughter echoing as they took turns hitting her.

Amelia gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “My God, Lara! What is this?!”

The Lara in the driver’s seat swallowed hard, her jaw tightening. “It’s me,” she said simply, her voice trembling. “Phoenix Holdings. A long time ago.”

Inside the warehouse, the bound Lara spat defiantly at one of her captors, the glob hitting his shirt. “You’ll regret that,” he snarled, raising his fist. Before he could strike, she vomited on his boots, eliciting a chorus of laughter from the other men.

The humor was short-lived. The man shoved her head back violently, knocking her unconscious. The real Lara flinched as if she had felt the blow herself.

Amelia turned to her daughter, tears welling in her eyes. “This is monstrous! Lara, you didn’t deserve this. No one does.”

Lara, unable to hold back any longer, began to cry. Amelia reached out, pulling her into an embrace. “You’re strong, my darling. You’ve survived so much. Don’t let this break you.”

Suddenly, the sound of an engine broke the tense silence. A beige Mercedes wagon from the 1980s screeched into the lot, its diesel engine rumbling like an approaching storm. The warehouse door slid open, and out stepped two familiar figures: Ivan and Winston.

Both men moved with the precision of seasoned operatives. Ivan, dressed in his signature leather jacket, carried an elepthant-rifle, while Winston, ever the loyal companion, was armed with a L1A1 rifle. Without hesitation, they stormed the warehouse.

Amelia, Priscilla, and Evelyn watched from the shadows as Ivan barked orders. “Get her untied! Cover me!”

Winston nodded, providing suppressive fire as Ivan sprinted to the bound Lara. He worked quickly, cutting the ropes and hoisting her limp form over his shoulder. As they retreated, Winston laid down another volley of shots, scattering the remaining thugs.

Moments later, the men emerged, loading the unconscious Lara into the trunk of the Mercedes. Ivan slammed the door shut, giving Winston a curt nod. Together, they climbed into the car and sped away, leaving the chaos of the warehouse behind.

Amelia, still clutching the door of the Škoda, turned to Lara. “Are you going to tell me what that was all about?”

Lara wiped her tears, her voice steadier now. “It was one of my earlier missions. I didn’t think anyone was coming for me. But Ivan… he never left anyone behind.”

They followed the trail of the Mercedes through the dim streets of Southampton until it pulled up to a modest hotel. Ivan, Winston, Görgy, and Eva emerged from the car, carrying the unconscious Lara inside.

From the shadows, the group watched as the figures disappeared into the hotel. Amelia’s eyes lingered on one of the upper windows, where she spotted Ivan standing next to the battered Lara. She saw something she hadn’t expected—a moment of vulnerability as Lara wrapped her arms around Ivan, holding him tightly.

Amelia’s throat tightened as she turned to her daughter. “Lara,” she said softly, “he loved you, didn’t he? Not just as a soldier or a partner, but truly loved you.”

Lara nodded, her voice barely a whisper. “He saved me, Mother. In more ways than one.”

Amelia smiled through her tears, taking her daughter’s hand. “You’re nobler than most aristocrats I’ve ever met, Lara. And that man of yours—he’s cut from the same cloth.”

Chapter 14

The scene shifted as the flames of the Super Estelle gave way to the dim glow of streetlights and the echoing sound of a restless crowd. The quartet found themselves parked on a cobblestone street lined with gray, blocky buildings. The air was thick with tension, the kind that prickled the skin and made the hair on the back of the neck stand on end.

Amelia adjusted her glasses, peering through the windshield at the mass of people gathered a short distance away. “Where are we now?” she asked, her voice tight with unease.

Lara squinted at a nearby street sign, her expression darkening as recognition dawned. “We’re in Prague. Národní třída.” Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “November 17, 1989.”

Priscilla let out a low whistle. “The Velvet Revolution,” she said, her tone reverent.

Evelyn looked between them, confusion etched on her face. “Revolution? Wait—was Ivan here for this?”

Lara hesitated, her brow furrowed as she stared at the gathering crowd. “Not that I know of,” she said slowly. “At least, he never mentioned it.”

As they watched, the peaceful demonstration erupted into chaos. Uniformed officers wielding batons descended on the protesters, shouts and screams piercing the cold night air. Smoke began to rise from the edges of the crowd, and the tension in the car thickened.

“There!” Amelia pointed, her hand trembling. “Is that... Ivan?”

Sure enough, a younger Ivan emerged from the throng, his face grim but determined. He was supporting a bloodied student, carefully easing him down to rest against the hood of a red Škoda 120 GLS. The car’s polished surface gleamed under the dim streetlights, its presence almost surreal amid the chaos.

Amelia’s eyes widened. “He’s helping them? But... wasn’t he a member of the Party? A state investigator?”

Lara’s gaze softened as she watched Ivan wipe blood from the student’s face with his own scarf. “He was also a human being,” she said quietly. “He never cared for the regime. He did what he had to survive.”

As the quartet watched, an officer broke from the line and approached Ivan, his baton raised. Before Ivan could react, the weapon came down with brutal force, striking him across the back. Ivan staggered but didn’t fall. Instead, he turned to face the officer, his expression a mix of defiance and fury.

“Why doesn’t he fight back?” Evelyn asked, her fists clenched.

Lara shook her head. “Because he knew it would only make things worse. But watch.”

The officer swung again, and this time Ivan went down. Blood trickled from a gash above his eye, staining the pavement as he struggled to his knees. But instead of retreating, he crawled back to the student he had been helping, shielding him with his own body.

Amelia’s hand flew to her mouth. “He’s... brave,” she murmured, her voice trembling.

“He’s Ivan,” Lara said simply.

Moments later, Ivan staggered to his feet, ignoring his injuries as he opened the Škoda’s rear doors. Lara leaned forward, her breath catching as she glimpsed what was inside—bundles of anti-communist leaflets stacked neatly on the seats.

“Those are—” Priscilla began.

“Protest materials,” Lara finished, her voice filled with awe. “He was risking everything. If they caught him with those, it wouldn’t just be prison—it would be treason.”

As Ivan passed out the leaflets to trembling students, he paused, his gaze falling on a young woman with a bleeding forehead. He knelt beside her, his movements tender despite the violence swirling around him. After tending to her wound, he glanced up and froze, his eyes locking onto the Super Estelle parked across the street.

Lara gasped softly. “He sees us.”

Ivan’s battered face broke into a weary smile, and he lifted a hand in a faint wave. Without thinking, Lara leaned forward and waved back, her movements mirrored by the rest of the quartet.

Evelyn frowned. “Won’t he think we’re suspicious?”

“No,” Lara said with a small smile. “He’ll just think it’s a strange coincidence. He always believed in strange coincidences.”

Ivan gave the Škoda’s hood a gentle pat before turning back to the crowd, his focus shifting to another injured protester. Amelia watched him with wide eyes, her earlier skepticism giving way to a deep respect. “He’s not who I thought he was,” she admitted softly.

Lara’s gaze didn’t leave Ivan as she spoke. “He never was. He was just... Ivan. Trying to make things better in his own way.”

The tension in the air was broken by the wail of approaching sirens. Ivan hurried to gather the remaining leaflets, stuffing them into the Škoda’s trunk before climbing into the driver’s seat. He started the engine and pulled away, the battered car disappearing into the labyrinth of Prague’s streets.

As the Super Estelle’s engine roared to life once more, the scene dissolved into a blur of light and motion. When it settled, they were back in the present, the night quiet and still around them.

For a long moment, no one spoke. Then Amelia broke the silence, her voice thoughtful. “He wasn’t just surviving. He was fighting, in his own way.”

Lara nodded, her expression solemn. “He always did. Even when it cost him everything.”

Evelyn looked down, her earlier cynicism replaced by something quieter, more reflective. “I guess I misjudged him.”

Lara didn’t reply, her gaze fixed on the horizon. She didn’t need to say anything; the echoes of that night had spoken for themselves.

Chapter 15

The Škoda shuddered to a halt on the edge of the Orlík Dam. The air was damp with the scent of moss and water, and the low hum of machinery echoed through the trees. The year was unmistakably 1995, and Lara recognized the scene immediately. Her shoulders tensed as she stepped out of the car, bracing herself for what she knew was coming.

Nearby, a crane loomed over the water, hauling rusted barrels from the depths of the reservoir. A red Škoda Forman stood parked nearby, its modest frame dwarfed by the industrial equipment. Ivan leaned against the car, his dark coat blending into the overcast backdrop as he oversaw the operation with practiced precision.

Amelia stepped out of the Škoda and immediately noticed the Forman. Her eyebrows arched, and she smirked. “That’s his car? A Škoda? I didn’t think they could make something that… functional.”

Lara shot her a stern look. “Mother, not now.”

“Fine, fine,” Amelia muttered, crossing her arms. “But it looks like it could collapse just sitting there.”

Priscilla and Evelyn, standing slightly apart, watched as Ivan directed a group of workers loading the retrieved barrels onto a waiting Avia truck. He looked focused, his gloved hands gesturing as he barked orders, his voice carrying over the quiet lapping of the water.

“What’s in those barrels?” Priscilla asked cautiously.

“Bodies,” Lara said flatly.

Evelyn paled. “Excuse me?”

Lara’s gaze didn’t waver. “This was one of Ivan’s cases. The bodies were dumped here—dissolved in lye and sealed in barrels. He told me about it.”

Amelia turned sharply toward her daughter, her face contorted with a mixture of horror and disbelief. “And you didn’t think to mention this earlier?”

Lara didn’t answer, her eyes fixed on Ivan as he helped secure the last barrel onto the truck. The Avia rumbled to life, its engine breaking the silence as it began the journey to Prague. Ivan stood still for a moment, watching the truck disappear down the road, before lighting a cigarette. His face was inscrutable, a mask that betrayed nothing of the horrors he had just witnessed.

The following day, they arrived at a hospital in Prague, where the barrels had been delivered for examination. The sterile smell of disinfectant mingled with an undercurrent of decay, making the air feel thick and oppressive.

Inside the morgue, Ivan moved with practiced efficiency, now dressed in a white coat and surgical gloves. He leaned over the first metal table, where a barrel lay opened beside it. The partially dissolved torso it contained was grotesque, a grim testament to the horrors inflicted on its owner.

Amelia hung back, her hands trembling as she gripped the edge of the observation window. Her face was pale, but she tried to stand firm. “This… this can’t be real,” she whispered to herself.

Ivan, unfazed, extracted a small, deformed bullet from the remains. Holding it up to the light, he murmured, “Six-point-three-five millimeter,” before dropping it into an evidence bag. Without pause, he moved to the next table, where another barrel had been opened.

The second torso was in similar condition. Ivan’s gloved hands worked with the same detached precision, retrieving another bullet. “Seven-point-six-five millimeter Browning,” he noted, his voice calm and steady.

Evelyn, watching from the window, turned away abruptly, her hands covering her mouth. “I can’t look at this anymore,” she muttered, retreating a few steps.

Priscilla remained rooted in place, her expression a mix of horror and fascination as she watched Ivan work.

Amelia, however, couldn’t hold out any longer. The stench and the sheer brutality of the scene overwhelmed her. Gagging audibly, she staggered backward, clutching her stomach, before collapsing to her knees and vomiting violently into a nearby trash can.

“Mother!” Lara exclaimed, rushing to her side. She knelt down, steadying Amelia with one arm as the older woman shook uncontrollably.

“I can’t,” Amelia gasped between breaths, tears streaming down her face. “I can’t do this. How… how can anyone look at this and not break?”

“He doesn’t have a choice,” Lara said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her mother’s face. “And neither do we.”

Amelia shook her head weakly, her eyes filled with anguish. “This is inhuman.”

Lara’s gaze hardened, though her voice remained gentle. “He’s seen worse, Mother. Much worse. And he’s carried it, every single day, so no one else has to.”

Inside the morgue, Ivan straightened, his work complete for now. He removed his gloves and placed them in the bin with an air of quiet finality. His shoulders sagged slightly as he turned toward the observation window, his gaze locking with Lara’s for a brief moment. Her eyes held steady, offering silent support, even as her mother slumped against her side.

Without a word, Ivan exited the room, the weight of his task visibly etched into his every movement.

The drive away from the hospital was steeped in silence, each passenger lost in their own thoughts. Amelia stared out the window, her complexion still pale, her hands trembling in her lap. Evelyn avoided everyone’s gaze, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

In the front seat, Lara focused on the road ahead, her expression a mask of calm. But her mind churned with the memories of Ivan’s work, the cost it exacted on him, and the quiet strength he carried through it all.

Priscilla finally broke the silence, her voice small. “How does he keep going after something like that?”

Lara glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Because he has to. Because no one else will.”

Amelia let out a shuddering breath, her voice barely above a whisper. “He’s not a man—he’s a machine.”

Lara shook her head. “No. He’s just a man who’s seen more than anyone should ever have to. And he does it because he cares. That’s what keeps him going.”

The road stretched on, gray and unending, as the group processed the darkness they had just witnessed. But for Lara, one thing was clear: Ivan’s strength wasn’t in his ability to face horrors—it was in his ability to keep living despite them.

Chapter 16

The journey back to Croft Manor was a somber one. The Super Estelle glided smoothly along the roads, its passengers wrapped in a heavy silence. Lara, Amelia, Priscilla, and Evelyn were lost in their thoughts, their minds replaying the horrors of Orlík. No one spoke; the weight of what they had witnessed hung over them like a dark cloud.

When they finally arrived at the grand estate, Winston was already waiting at the entrance, his calm presence a comforting sight. “Good evening, ladies,” he greeted them softly, opening the door. “I’ve prepared tea in the lounge if you’d like to rest for a while.”

Lara nodded briefly, mumbling her thanks, but her thoughts were elsewhere. Without another word, she headed straight for her study. The others watched her go but didn’t follow. They understood that she needed time to herself.

The study was exactly as she had left it—warm, familiar, and comforting. The walls were lined with bookshelves, maps were spread across the large desk, and artifacts gleamed softly in the muted light. It was her sanctuary, the one place where she could find clarity.

But tonight, something was different. On her desk lay a folded piece of paper that hadn’t been there before.

Her heart sank as she approached it. The handwriting was unmistakable—it was Ivan’s. Her hands trembled as she picked it up and unfolded it, revealing a letter addressed to her.

“Dear Lara,” it began.

His words were simple, yet each one carried the weight of a man who had carefully chosen them. Pancreatic cancer. Those two words hit her like a physical blow. He explained that he hadn’t told her because he didn’t want her to suffer, didn’t want her to watch him wither away.

“Pancreatic cancer is a cruel thing,” he wrote. “There’s no cure, and the suffering is inevitable. I couldn’t bear to go through it, and I couldn’t let you endure it either.”

As she read on, tears streamed down her face. He spoke of the love he had for her, how he had often pushed himself beyond his limits for her happiness. “Because I loved you,” he wrote simply. “I always will.”

By the time she reached the end of the letter, her hands were shaking, and her vision was blurred with tears. The final words—“Forever”—echoed in her mind. She sat down heavily in the chair, clutching the letter to her chest.

Amelia stood silently in the doorway, watching her daughter. She hadn’t intended to intrude but couldn’t bring herself to leave. Seeing Lara so broken was a rare and heartbreaking sight.

When Lara finally noticed her, she quickly wiped her eyes, but it was futile. Amelia stepped forward, placing a comforting hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

“He was a good man,” Amelia said softly. “Even if his taste in cars was… questionable.”

Lara let out a small, bitter laugh through her tears. “Why didn’t he tell me, Mother?” she asked, her voice cracking.

Amelia sighed. “Because he didn’t want to burden you. He didn’t want you to see him suffer. And… I think he wanted to protect you, as he always did.”

Lara shook her head. “I should have noticed something was wrong. I should have—”

“You couldn’t have known,” Amelia interrupted gently. “And even if you had, it wouldn’t have changed his decision. Ivan was… stubborn in his own way. But everything he did, he did out of love for you.”

Amelia’s gaze wandered around the room, landing on a series of photographs displayed on a nearby shelf. One, in particular, caught her attention—a wedding photo.

It was a candid shot of Lara and Ivan on their wedding day. Lara looked radiant, though slightly embarrassed, as Ivan kissed her cheek. Ivan, in his simple yet well-fitted suit, had a rare, carefree smile on his face. Amelia stared at the photo, her expression softening.

“I admit,” she said slowly, “I thought of him as… a poor man. A simple man, perhaps beneath you.”

Lara looked up at her mother, her tear-streaked face hardening slightly.

“But,” Amelia continued, “I was wrong.”

Her eyes shifted to another photograph—a black-and-white image of Ivan standing proudly beside a Mercedes 220Sb. The car gleamed in the sunlight, its elegant curves a testament to its luxury. Ivan, leaning casually against the door, looked every bit the gentleman, his stance confident and dignified.

“This… this isn’t a man without means,” Amelia murmured.

Lara’s lips twitched into a small, sad smile. “No, he wasn’t poor, Mother. Ivan was many things, but he was never lacking in resourcefulness. He just didn’t flaunt what he had.”

Amelia raised an eyebrow. “What else haven’t you told me?”

Lara hesitated for a moment before standing. She crossed the room to a cabinet, unlocking it to reveal a set of keys. “Come with me,” she said simply.

Amelia followed Lara out to the estate’s private airstrip. Parked under a hangar was a sleek, modern private jet.

“This was Ivan’s gift to me,” Lara said quietly.

Amelia’s eyes widened. “He bought you… a jet?”

Lara nodded. “He didn’t do it to show off. He said it was so I could travel more safely, more comfortably. He thought of everything, always putting my needs first.”

Amelia stared at the jet, then back at her daughter. “I misjudged him, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” Lara replied simply. “Ivan was far more than what he appeared to be. He loved me, Mother. And he showed it in every way he could.”

Amelia’s gaze softened as she looked at her daughter. “I see that now. He gave you more than just things—he gave you his heart, his strength, his life. And I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”

Lara smiled faintly, tears glistening in her eyes. “He did. And I’ll make sure his memory lives on. He deserves that.”

They stood together in silence, the weight of Ivan’s absence heavy but his legacy undeniable. For the first time, Amelia truly understood the depth of Ivan’s love for Lara—and the strength of the bond they had shared.