Chapter 19

After leaving the guesthouse, I moved to a remote fjord town in western Iceland, a place where you could see the Northern Lights.

My landlord was a kind old man named Gunnar. He didn't speak much English, and we mostly communicated with gestures and simple words, but the quiet was exactly what I needed.

Every evening, I played my violin by the fireplace. The familiar melodies echoed in the small cabin, accompanied by the sound of the sea breeze and the distant mountains. I painted, I read, I drank coffee, and I watched the aurora dance across the sky.

I felt a true sense of peace.

One afternoon, Gunnar knocked on my door. He looked hesitant, holding an old smartphone in his hand.

"Ava," he said, using my new name, "I don't know if I should show you this… but there are these videos going around online… about an American gangster. They're saying… they're saying the man is dying."

I put down my paintbrush and looked at his worried face. "What video?"

I took the old phone from Gunnar's han