Bavaria was cold the next morning. Sunlight filtered through the clouds in a pale champagne hue.

Arabella woke late, her head heavy from the wine. The maid struggled to wake her until she tried a few words of English. Arabella's eyes lit up as if a password had been entered into her brain.

The maid laid out a set of clothes that had arrived by helicopter earlier that morning. Arabella touched the pink cashmere sweater and the matching down jacket. "They're so soft," she murmured, pulling them on.

At the bottom of a leather suitcase sat the long, soft candy pillow she had begged for the night before. Frederick Heinrich von Herheid wanted her to sleep well, even if it wasn't in his house.

The maid tied Arabella's dark hair into a neat fishbone braid with a ribbon. Arabella ran down the stairs to the dining hall. Frederick sat there, nursing a cup of black tea.

"Frederick!" Arabella beamed, the corners of her mouth twitching upward.

Frederick looked up. He was impeccably groomed, his blonde hair slicked back with oil. His tailored suit framed his massive 190cm frame, though his collar was open, revealing a glimpse of his throat.

"Tea or milk, Birdie?" he asked with a faint smile.

"Whatever you're having," Arabella replied.

They ate ciabatta with peppered bacon and smoked salmon. Arabella finished every bite and patted her stomach. Frederick watched her small movements, his lips curving instinctively.

"We're leaving," Frederick said, setting his cutlery down in a finished signal.

Arabella caught his sleeve. "Where are we going? Is it a trip? What is there to do in Germany?".

"The JH Charity Club is near a lake," Frederick explained, his voice low. "There are deer and black goats. You can sit under the sycamores or try the shooting range".

"JH? You mention that a lot," she said.

"It is where we are going now," Frederick replied, his blue eyes turning deep and unreadable.

He had planned everything. She would stay in the management dorms, which were far better than the foundation wards. He would cover her expenses from his private accounts and secure her residency status.

Arabella mimicked a gun with her fingers and pointed it at him. "Biu biu biu! I want to see the deer!".

Frederick laughed softly at her childishness.

They boarded the helicopter. As they rose, the Herheid Estate shrunk into a dollhouse—an ivory palace surrounded by green velvet lawns and dense oak forests.

"It's beautiful," Arabella whispered, fogging the glass with her breath. "But it looks lonely. It should be full of people".

Frederick didn't look up from his work emails.

The helicopter swept over Munich, the towers of the Frauenkirche standing tall over the city's height-restricted skyline. They crossed into the countryside and descended toward a modern building.

Executives from the JH Charity Club stood in stiff suits on the lawn. They bowed low as the rotors slowed. "Welcome, Mr. von Herheid".

Arabella clung to Frederick's shadow, unsettled by the way the strangers stared at her.

"What are you looking at, Birdie?" Frederick asked, glancing at her.

"This doesn't look like fun," she pouted. "Did you lie to me?".

Frederick's blue eyes were as vast and cold as the sea. "You wanted chocolate mousse, didn't you? Follow them, and you'll have it".

"Really?" Arabella's face brightened.

Frederick nodded. A flicker of guilt touched his chest, but he suppressed it. Separations were always like this—stormy for a moment, then quiet as the tide.

"Go on," he urged.

"Aren't you coming? It's delicious," she said.

"I'm not hungry, Birdie".

A staff member stepped forward. "This way, Miss. I'll show you to your room".

Arabella followed the woman, then turned back to wave. "Wait for me, Frederick! I'll be back as soon as I finish the cake!".

Frederick stood ramrod straight in his camel-brown suit, the fabric gleaming in the sun. He raised a hand in a brief, gentlemanly gesture.

Arabella felt a sudden chill. He looked so far away.

The woman led her to a charming two-story cottage with a yard full of roses. "Here is the living room, and the laundry. Your bedroom is upstairs".

Arabella's attention shifted to the new surroundings. "Can I have my chocolate mousse now?".

"Of course, Miss."

The cake was a masterpiece, heaped with strawberries and dark chocolate shavings, exactly as Frederick had ordered. Arabella gasped in delight.

Then, other staff members entered, wheeling three large suitcases into the foyer.

Arabella froze. "What are those?".

"Your luggage, Miss," the woman smiled.

The truth hit her like a physical blow. The cake, the pillow, the residency—it was a goodbye. She scrambled to her feet, ignoring the mousse.

"Where is Frederick?" she demanded.

The staff exchanged confused looks.

"Where is Frederick!" Arabella shouted, her voice rising into a panicked chirp.

"I'm sorry, Miss," the woman replied. "We don't know".

Arabella accidentally knocked over the chocolate mousse cake. Strawberries and chocolate shards scattered across the floor, and a wave of guilt washed over her as she stared at the mess she had made.

But there was no time for guilt. She bolted out the door. The staff, remembering Harold's strict instructions to keep her there, immediately gave chase.

One particularly aggressive male staff member tried to intercept her, lunging forward to grab her shoulder and drag her back.

Something strange and terrifying happened then. While Arabella's mind was focused solely on fleeing, her body moved with a speed and precision that bypassed thought. Instinctively, she caught his arm, pivoted, and executed a perfect over-the-shoulder throw. The man, who was much larger than her, was slammed hard onto the ground.

"Ach du Schreck!" (Oh my God!) someone gasped.

Everyone stood frozen in shock. Arabella was equally stunned, her face a mask of bewilderment.

She didn't know where that strength had come from; it was as if her body possessed a reflexive defense mechanism, a silk-smooth set of movements she must have practiced thousands of times in a life she no longer remembered.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to... just don't follow me!"

Distraught and panicked like a bird striking the bars of its cage, she apologized as she ran. Her mind held the map of the grounds, and she sprinted back toward the green lawn where they had landed.

By the time she reached the clearing, the helicopter was already beginning its ascent. The massive downdraft from the rotors whipped the air into a frenzy, tossing her long hair into a tangled mess.

The aircraft hadn't yet reached its full altitude. Through the glass window, she caught sight of a familiar, aristocratic figure. Frederick was leaning back, his gaze lowered toward a tablet in his hand. His handsome profile was a mask of cold indifference, making him look utterly ruthless and unreachable.

"Frederick!" she screamed, waving her arms frantically. Fearing he couldn't see her, she began to jump. "Frederick! I'm down here! I haven't boarded yet! I'm right here!"

"Frederick! Frederick!"

"Hey—wait for me!!"

She screamed until her throat was raw, but her voice was completely swallowed by the deafening roar of the engines. It was impossible for anyone inside to hear her. A crushing sense of isolation began to wrap around her, mirroring the terrifying void she had felt the moment she first woke from her coma.

In this world, everyone has an anchor—parents, a partner, friends, a job, or even just a house and a car. But she had nothing. She couldn't even find the person she used to be. She was a woman without a memory, a soul without a place to belong.

"Fritz..."

Her voice cracked and faded into a hoarse whisper. The helicopter shrank into the distance until it was nothing more than a tiny speck against the blue. Even if she truly were the Little Bird he called her, she could never hope to catch up to that giant eagle.

The realization finally set in, cold and absolute. Tears blurred her vision and began to track down her cheeks.

Frederick didn't want her anymore. He had lured her here with the promise of chocolate mousse, only to abandon her.