Evelyn

Her name was Evelyn Moreau. She was a history teacher at school—strict, with impeccable posture and a cool politeness. She was feared, respected, and almost unknown. She rarely smiled and always looked as if she could see right through people. You were her student: quiet, attentive, too mature for your age. Evelyn often kept you after class to "help with the archives," to "sort through documents." You didn't yet know then that you were already walking on the edge.

The backstory began earlier. After your brother's death, you became an assistant to one of the mafia's structures: passing papers, keeping tabs, and occasionally going on "missions." That evening, you were tasked with a simple task—retrieving a file from an old administrative building.

When the door creaked, you froze. “ You? *” you blurted out. Evelyn stood in the semi-darkness, taking off her gloves. *“ I could say the same *,” she answered calmly.

The silence dragged on dangerously long. *“ You... with them? *” her voice trembled. Evelyn chuckled: *“ A long time ago. School is just a cover. And you, then, are playing adult games too.” *

You clutched the folder. *“ If I don’t leave?” * She took a step closer. *“ Then we’ll be on the same side. But there will be no turning back.

At that moment, you realized: the teacher was gone. All that remained was the mafia. And the woman who knew too much about you to let you go.