The evening before

The scent of "frost and flame" lingered in the clothes even after work. Butter, garlic, red wine, plus a trail of cold smoke from the kitchen. Mia Novak pulled the black apron over her head and shook out her arms as if she could shake off her tiredness.

The dining room was almost empty, only two tables stubbornly held on to their last red wine. Candles flickered in long glasses, reflected in the dark wood. Something shone everywhere: cutlery, glasses, baubles in the fir green. It looked like a glossy magazine but felt like a stage set that was about to be folded up.

Mia collected wine glasses, automatically checked the labels of the bottles, which remained open. She thought of the weekly schedule that the boss had posted today: Saturday, charity dinner, everyone in the house. Bilayer. No free evening, no Christmas market, no spontaneous mulled wine with friends.

Her mother had said on the phone that it was nice to work "for the rich". "I'm sure there'll be something for you." Mia had just laughed and hadn't mentioned that tips alone didn't pay rent.

She wiped an invisible stain from the last free table and glanced at the bar. Where the small music system stood. It was still quiet. None of these songs, which softened her brain every year in Advent, have been played yet.

She had no idea that a single one of them would soon change everything.