Chapter Text

She's running late.

If she had put her textbook back into her bag last night like she meant to – if she hadn't forgotten there wasn't anything in the house to eat because the maid was away, visiting her family – if she hadn't stayed up so late watching bad comedy shows and overslept –

Plenty of regrets but they won't get her to class on time. Good thing she has a shiny new car – her father's not the most demonstrative kind, but he does spoil her sometimes. She's not the youngest person to drive herself to school, but few can say they own the car they drive at their age.

Taking a hard left, she slows down to work her way around the junction and still manages to obstruct the lane beside her. She still hasn't quite mastered the art of driving yet.

The next light is red. She speeds past, doesn't look back – she's in a hurry, nothing happened, and she needs to focus on the junction ahead. This light's flashing amber, but she knows this road; she can make it, she's done this before, she just needs to time this just right –

One moment the road is clear, the next it isn't. She barely makes out a black sedan and the terrified eyes staring back at her before time stops.

Her body jolts hard, roaring fills her ears, and she doesn't remember what happens next.

Elsa didn't really notice when the apartment opposite hers found an occupant one afternoon; not until her shoe hit a box.

It wasn't really her fault; she was completely preoccupied with her latest project. Even if the company's CEO wasn't required to give her fullest attention to the design process, Elsa felt obligated to supervise the team and the creative process, though she was less than happy about it; the slight nervous tic of her hand was the only outward sign of her irritation.

The project was big – their client, a major biomedical firm, was moving their headquarters to their city and wanted North Mountain Architecture to design their new building. As per her office manager Kai's recommendation, she had asked one of her senior partners to take charge of the project, confident that his design aesthetic was on par with theirs.

She was thankful to have the senior partners and Kai, really. When her father had died suddenly, the management of North Mountain fell on her relatively inexperienced shoulders. The partners had agreed to focus on clients while Kai guided her through a CEO's day-to-day workload. No one could accuse Elsa of not trying her best, though; despite being relatively fresh out of architecture school, she threw herself into her additional duties and relied heavily on the senior staff members' guidance. The senior architects were happy to work under her because of the name she carried. She didn't want to disappoint them.

It still felt unreal, like she was only holding down the fort until her father returned. She was expecting him to walk into the office like he always had any moment now, briefcase in hand.

She had been completely lost in thought, engrossed in project management and clients, so when her shoe hit a box, Elsa's first reaction was to walk around it, not even breaking her stride – which was quickly thwarted when she kicked a crate with considerably more force. Luckily, her sensible black heels were sturdy enough to absorb most of the impact, with the additional effect of bringing her back to her immediate surroundings.

When she looked up, she realised the corridor was littered with boxes of all shapes and sizes, completely obscuring her front door. Colourfully-wrapped bundles broke up the beige monotony here and there, strongly resembling Santa's workshop in the Christmas season.

"What…?" She stopped outside where she supposed her front door was; nudging aside the tower of boxes a fraction confirmed its location. There was no way around it (quite literally). Elsa put down her briefcase so she could shove the boxes to one side. They wobbled dangerously, and the blonde's breath caught when the one on top teetered and nearly fell –

She slapped her hand on it. The box stayed. Elsa breathed a sigh of relief.

"Is someone there?"

She squinted. One of the piles appeared to be – moving…?

"Um, hello?"

"Oh! Hi!" The voice appeared to be coming from one of the boxes, marked 'Kitchen' and striped with FRAGILE stickers. "Sorry – give me a moment…" And then it was lowered to the ground to reveal a young woman with auburn hair in two rather frazzled braids. "Sorry – I'm a little stuck at the moment, otherwise I would go over there."

"Not a problem," said Elsa. "I'm sorry I knocked over your things."

"Oh, no! It's not your fault!" She waved her free hand frantically at Elsa. "The moving guys thought it was funny to unload the entire truck here since 'it was just one load and we have other clients this afternoon missy'." She sounded huffy. "You'd think they'd at least offer to lend a hand given…" The voice faltered, and then started. "Sorry, don't mind me, I'm talking to myself. Hey, I'm really sorry about the mess."

The blonde smiled politely even though she couldn't really see the girl. "It's not a problem."

"Glad you think so." The girl disappeared back into the forest, and then her head popped out from another gap in the box towers. "Give me ten minutes, I'll have everything tidied up before you can say chocolate chip cookies…" A dull thud from inside, followed by a muttered curse. "Uh… maybe fifteen."

"Tell you what," said Elsa. "If you'd hang on for a minute, I'll change out of these clothes and give you a hand."

The girl stuck her head out again, looking alarmed; there was another loud thump like she had dropped something, but the redhead paid it no heed. "It's alright, really! I wouldn't want to impose on you – we've only just met, and I'm already pressing you into slave labour…"

"It's nothing like that." Elsa was already unbuttoning her blazer. "I'm happy to help a new neighbour." She slipped into her apartment, deaf to muffled protests, a small thrill of warmth seeping through her body. Her therapist would have been so proud. When was the last time she'd talked to someone outside work? Three years of living in Arendelle Heights, and Elsa was only on a 'nod and smile' basis with the other people that lived on her floor – chiefly the family from Scotland, and the young man who mostly kept to himself. She didn't even know their names.

At the very least, she had interacted with her immediate neighbour. It was a start. Baby steps, Elsa, that's the best way to start. She could almost hear Gerda's warm, motherly voice.

When Elsa had lost her mother, Agdar, worried that he would be unable to handle his daughter on his own, had thought therapy would help Elsa adjust – which it had, through her teenage years. After the accident that had nearly destroyed years of progress, Elsa had continued seeing Gerda, the therapist painstakingly putting her back together.

At least, she could be proud of the person she was today. Elsa's social anxiety had been, at one point, so bad that she would physically flee when confronted with difficult social situations. She could consider herself a well-adjusted and mature adult today, despite the major setback caused by the accident; panic attacks were few and far in between, easily managed with the exercises she knew by heart.

She put her thoughts to the back of her mind with a practiced ease. Conceal, don't feel.

Her blazer went on the coat rack, the rest of her power suit into the laundry basket. When Elsa emerged from her apartment, clad in sweatpants and a T-shirt, the corridor was already half-empty. More thudding and cursing sounded from the ajar door opposite her unit. Elsa knocked on the door.

"Hey, it's me. I'll just move the rest of the boxes inside, okay?"

"Yes, thanks!"

"Here we go," said Elsa to herself. She selected a middling box, easing her fingers underneath, and hauling it into the empty apartment. A rather battered-looking couch occupied pride of place in the centre of what Elsa guessed would be a living room. Apart from that, a cardboard city of boxes filled most of the available space, save for a highway that Elsa presumed led towards the rooms. It brought back memories from when she moved house.

She remembered getting the keys to her apartment three years ago, as a graduation present from her father. The agent's rendition of the various features of the house had faded away into the background as she stepped in, already planning the layout, colour schemes – a job hazard of being a professional architect who dabbled in interior design.

Moving in hadn't been a much of a chore. The professional movers Elsa's father had hired ensured the few things Elsa owned were transported safely and efficiently. Father and daughter were able to celebrate with a glass of wine on Elsa's new sofa that evening.

It was one of the memories of her father she held dearly; the normally immaculate man with his collar unbuttoned and expression relaxed, sitting beside her.

She went back to her work. The boxes, much to her surprise, were fairly light, which probably explained why there were so many of them.

Just as Elsa was setting down the last of the boxes, a voice drifted over to her from one of the rooms: "Thanks again for helping – you didn't have to, you know, but I appreciate it."

"It's no trouble at all – really," replied Elsa. "Can I leave this here in the living room?"

"Please. Don't worry about unpacking – I'll air my own dirty laundry, thanks."

Elsa laughed.

"Just so you know, I insist on buying you dinner." The girl reappeared, and Elsa blinked; earlier, she had only gotten a glimpse of her newest neighbour. She could see now that the girl's hair wasn't truly red – shifting between auburn and russet in the late afternoon sunlight – and a multitude of freckles dotted her skin.

She was also seated in a wheelchair, a bundle balanced in her lap, wearing a faded T-shirt and equally worn jeans.

Deftly, she single-handedly maneuvered the chair over to Elsa – bundle wobbling threateningly – who was doing her best not to stare. "I'm Anna Iversen," she said, offering a callused hand and a smile, "and I'm – as you've probably guessed – moving in today. Pleased to meet you."

Anna Iversen. She knew that name.

Elsa's stomach plummeted, and it took all of her considerable self-control to reach out and take Anna's hand, plastering on a smile as though nothing was wrong. "Elsa Brundtland," she said through the sudden tightness in her throat. "Welcome to Arendelle Heights."

Anna's grin widened. "Glad to be here, neighbor. I hope everyone is as friendly as you are." She jerked her head at the door. "Give me a minute to unpack a few of the essentials, and then I'll call for pizza. Do you have any likes, dislikes? Are you one of those people who think anchovies on pizza is an abomination?"

"Do you… need any more help?" Elsa was torn between wanting to flee at the first opportunity, and automatic concern for the young woman in the chair. She kept her voice neutral for fear of offending Anna – though, from the shadow that flickered over the redhead's face, she hadn't been successful.

"I can manage," answered Anna lightly. "Besides, my brother will be here later to help out."

"Ah. I see." Anna Iversen, red hair, wheelchair. It was too much of a coincidence; it had to be her.

"Elsa?"

Elsa realised she'd been asked a question; she shook herself from her reverie, clearing her throat in embarrassment. "I – actually, I've just remembered I have something I need to do. I'm really sorry."

"Oh." Anna looked disappointed. "That's too bad. Another time maybe? I owe you food for making you work."

"Please, don't bother." She tried to keep it together, tried not to let the blind panic show. As it were, Elsa could barely hear Anna over the sound of her pounding heart. "I'll see you another time, then."

Anna followed her to the door. "Thanks again, Elsa. It was nice meeting you." One last freckled grin, and Elsa fought the urge to run.

"Likewise."

Once she was safe behind her locked front door, she pulled out her phone and dialed a number with trembling fingers.

"Mr. Kristiansen? Sorry to bother you this late, but – "

"Elsa! For goodness' sake, this must be the thousandth time I've told you to call me Olaf. It's nice to hear from you. How are things?" He always sounded warm and cheerful no matter the time of day.

"Fine, but that's not the reason I was calling…"

"I'm sorry! You're right. What can I do for you?"

"It's about Miss Iversen…" Elsa chewed on her lower lip, struggling to collect her thoughts. "She's moved to the unit opposite mine."

"Wait, what?"

"… she didn't tell you?"

"I only heard she was moving out of her foster family's house," said the social worker, sounding perplexed, "but she didn't say where she was moving to." A chuckle. "What a coincidence."

"Didn't she call to tell you?" pressed Elsa. "Did you ask her foster parents? You are her social worker, after all, and one of my father's stipulations was that you are to be informed before she makes any major decisions."

"Anna is pretty willful." She could practically feel the man shrug. "The things she gets up to! Why, her Ma was just telling me the other day – "

" – Mr. Kristiansen, perhaps you could share that anecdote about Miss Iversen with me another day," interrupted Elsa. "But for now, if it's not too much trouble, could you call her and ask her if she has any special reasons for moving here?"

"You mean, if she can be convinced to move anywhere else but next door?"

Elsa flushed, thankful he couldn't see her face. "Y-yes."

"Always so formal," said Olaf, completely unruffled by the iciness in Elsa's voice. "But yes. Funny, isn't it, when you and your father insist on your distance and she moves in right next door!"

The blonde didn't respond to that. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the phone.

"I'll call her, and get back to you on that. But really, dear, you must drop by my office some time. There's a lovely café nearby, we can have lunch. I'm not called a social worker for nothing!"

"I'll try and make time for that," said Elsa amidst the man's guffaws, "thank you for the invitation, Mr. Kris – Olaf."

"Anytime, Elsa."

She said her goodbyes and hung up. Her stomach growled the next instant, reminding her she hadn't had dinner, and she had turned down pizza. Elsa went to contemplate the contents of her fridge: to her dismay, there wasn't much since she had forgotten to go grocery shopping last weekend.

"Great."

She collapsed on the sofa, running through her options mentally. The most obvious course of action was to pop downstairs for takeaway, but there was a chance that Anna would see her leaving or coming back, and be hurt that the blonde was avoiding her. Elsa wasn't sure why she was so concerned about what Anna – no, Miss Iversen – thought of her. Anna Iversen was supposed to be the person who only existed as a transfer record in her bank statement. Elsa had even requested Olaf not show her photos so she could remain as emotionally distant as possible.

All that for naught, she thought bitterly.

Well, the situation wasn't completely hopeless. She would wait for Olaf to call her back before deciding what to do. If money was a problem, well – Elsa would simply increase the amount sent in her monthly cheques. Olaf could handle the paperwork for her. In the worst-case scenario, Elsa would move.

She glanced around the room, feeling a pang of regret. She would miss the apartment, of course, as her first home on her own, but some sacrifices had to be made for the good of everyone.

It was past midnight by the time Elsa summoned the courage to leave her apartment. Gerda would have been appalled; years of work, undone in an afternoon.

She hadn't been completely idle, of course; the blonde had found it surprisingly easy to focus on her latest project despite the excitement of her afternoon. Elsa had managed to complete her latest chapter and send it to her editor ahead of schedule, even managing to draft the next chapter.

Architecture was strictly a profession for her; she'd studied it to please her father but Elsa's true passion was writing. She'd started out – like most young adults – with fanfiction on Tumblr, but decided to focus on original fiction as a reprieve from college, publishing her work under a pseudonym. Elsa didn't want to mix the different aspects of her life – more specifically, she didn't want anyone from the firm to know that their boss, shy, withdrawn Elsa Brundtland, wrote bestselling murder mysteries in her spare time.

Elsa had been so engrossed, she'd forgotten she hadn't eaten until she glanced at her clock and remembered – though it had taken a while to work up her nerve.

The lights were still on in Anna's – Miss Iversen's – place. The blonde forced herself not to linger, darting into the lift as the doors slid open.

She made her way around the corner to her usual take-out place. It was greasy and perpetually packed with surly customers. Elsa didn't like it for its food, or the ambience; it was open 24 hours a day, and despite being a regular, she was treated with complete indifference by the staff. It was refreshing to be anonymous.

The young CEO was back at her apartment within the hour, takeout carton in one hand, the other holding her keys, ready to lunge into the house.

It was just her rotten luck, then, when Anna's door swung open.

"Oh," said the girl, a black garbage bag in her lap. "You're still up?"

Elsa managed a weak smile. "I could say the same for you."

"Heh. I've always been a night owl, even in the face of 9am classes." She wheeled into the corridor and hesitated. "... Um, do you know where the garbage chute is?"

"End of the corridor to your right, past the lift, and on your left," replied Elsa.

"Thanks." Anna smiled at her in passing.

"Wait!"

"Hmm?"

"I, um." Elsa knew the chute was cantankerous, needing both hands to yank the rusting door open. She simply couldn't imagine the redhead wrestling with something at her eye level without the benefit of leverage. "I'm sorry if I'm being presumptuous, but… would you like a hand?"

"I mean," she continued lamely, "the chute isn't easy to get open for the rest of us, and it's your first time using it, so..."

"You're not being presumptuous at all, don't worry," said Anna easily, waiting until Elsa caught up with her, letting her wheelchair glide along at walking pace. "It's pretty hard to offend me. I mean, I'm already the same height as grade school kids."

Elsa smiled despite herself. "You're very optimistic." For someone who had everything taken from her in an afternoon, supplied her brain. She ignored it.

"In addition to my stunning good looks and sparkling wit." Anna burst out laughing at Elsa's expression. "I'm only joking, of course!"

"Right," managed the blonde. She had never been good at social situations, let alone with someone whom she shared a history with. Elsa wasn't entirely sure how to handle herself in the face of Anna's cheerfulness – and the constant reminder of her mistake.

"Oh, is that it?" Anna pointed at the chrome rectangle built into the wall. Elsa nodded.

"Here, let me – "

"Let me have a go first?"

The blonde shrugged helplessly. Anna reached for the garbage chute handle, cursing as the metal creaked but remained firmly shut. "Wow, it's jammed tight. You weren't joking when you said it was tough."

"Here, I'll show you the trick we all use." Elsa thumped her fist on the lower corner of the door, once, twice; she yanked hard on the handle, and it gave.

Anna whistled appreciatively. "Beautiful, and talented to boot."

There was a pause as Elsa turned pink, and Anna looked like she wanted to dive head-first into the chute. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to – well, I did mean it, but in a totally non-creepy way, and – you know what? I'm just going to throw this in, and then melt into the ground. It was nice knowing you."

"I – um – thank you," responded Elsa automatically. Her first instinct was always good manners, something drilled into her from childhood.

Anna giggled, but kept her eyes down as she pushed her trash in and shut the chute. They walked – and rolled – down the corridor in silence.

"Well – " Elsa began as they reached their apartments.

" – sorry about that," blurted Anna. "I wasn't – well, I don't think before I talk. Clearly. And I am totally weirding you out, aren't I? Especially now. No, don't answer that." And she slumped into dejected silence so comical, Elsa bit her lower lip to stifle a laugh.

"It's fine. Really."

"It is? I mean, you don't think I'm annoying? Kristoff – my brother – says that all the time."

"Not at all," promised Elsa, and got a shy smile in return.

"Thanks. It means a lot to me."

"You're welcome."

Anna glanced at her watch. "Wow, okay. I'm guessing you have work tomorrow? And I have class. I won't keep you any longer, then. Thanks for everything, Elsa. See you around?"

She nodded and smiled, echoing the sentiments, feeling her face grow rigid with effort. It was only when she locked her front door, she remembered she had been holding her takeout carton the entire time.

In the privacy of her home, Elsa covered her face with her hand and let it stay there.

Elsa was fourteen, sitting in the therapist's chair straight-backed and tense, her hands folded in her lap. Gerda was busy with the notes in front of her. Occasionally she would make annotations to the printed paper, the scratching of the pen the only sound in the room.

"How have you been, Elsa?" she asked without looking up.

"Fine," said the blonde automatically.

Gerda laid her pen down, lifting her gaze to meet Elsa's; she held it for barely a moment before looking away, feeling intensely uncomfortable under the therapist's scrutiny.

The older woman sighed. "Elsa dear, I'm not going to judge you or do anything of that sort."

"I know that." She suddenly felt ashamed for not being able to look Gerda in the eye. Slowly, she looked back at Gerda, who smiled slightly, acknowledging her gesture.

"Do you feel like clarifying what's fine? It's alright if you don't feel like talking today. Has anything good happened at school, with your friends?"

Elsa did want to talk. She had done well on her mathematics test, a result she hadn't been expecting because she had had trouble with integration while studying and hadn't been confident in problem-solving. The day before, she had mustered up the courage to say hello to the girl in her after-school club. Her father had taken them out for dinner, and he had been in a good enough mood to share stories about her mother.

All of these jumbled in her mind. Despite being well aware that Gerda was not going to judge, criticize, or lecture her, Elsa felt as though it would be stupid to talk about those mundane things that other people did so easily, and was such an uphill task for her. She was fully aware she was different from everyone else in how she thought, and how convoluted her logical processes were – she had learned that the hard way.

Gerda said nothing throughout the entire mental struggle, though it must have been plain on Elsa's face; she returned to her notes. Elsa relaxed her shoulders a little, relieved that she was not inconveniencing the therapist by forcing her to wait.

"I did well on my mathematics test," blurted the girl.

"Oh? That's good." Gerda laid down her pen again. "I remember you telling me you were worried about it."

"Yeah." Math was something Elsa was happy to talk about. "I did the practice questions in the textbook but I wasn't getting the answers, so I thought I was going to have trouble in the test. I was sure I'd just get the marks for doing the workings without the correct answers."

"That's a good strategy," said Gerda approvingly, and Elsa glowed with pride. Slowly, haltingly, she continued to talk.

Elsa went to the office earlier than usual, glad that she had a meeting as her excuse. Mostly, she was paranoid about bumping into Anna again.

Olaf had yet to call back. She was becoming anxious and it was bleeding into her reason, prompting her into rash decisions. The young CEO took a deep breath and held it. It was incredible, really – she observed from a detached corner of her mind – how one person had such a profound effect on her.

"Miss Brundtland?"

Elsa looked up, her manufactured smile becoming genuine when she saw who it was. "Please, Kai; when we're alone, at least, call me Elsa. You've known me since I was a toddler."

"Before that, even, when your father used to bring you to the office in your stroller." He smiled warmly at the memory. "Which means I know you well enough to guess there's something bothering you."

Her smile turned rueful. "I'm an open book, aren't I?"

The portly man chuckled. "Only to me." He folded his hands over each other, patiently waiting for the young woman to elaborate.

Her mouth worked as she struggled to articulate what was on her mind. "It's the girl from the... accident. She – she's my new neighbour."

"Oh. Oh dear." Kai said nothing more though his eyes shone with sympathy; she was glad for his silent support.

"It was the first time I'd seen her in years – my first time meeting her, at least. I thought…" Elsa's hands clenched and unclenched in her lap, and the thought went unfinished. "She was so nice. If she knew the truth about me…"

"You're worrying needlessly," said Kai gently. "She isn't going to find out who you are to her. Unless you tell her."

"I know that. But still –"

"– but still nothing," he admonished her. "Everything will turn out fine. Now, I came to let you know that the meeting's about to start."

Elsa had completely forgotten. "O-oh, yes. Thank you, Kai. I'll be there in two minutes."

She'd woken up gradually, the sharp smell of disinfectant filling her senses. Moving hurt, particularly her head, which throbbed furiously when she turned to look around her.

This wasn't her room. It looked like a hospital. The last thing she remembered was driving on the road…

Oh gods.

Elsa took deep breaths, fighting the rising panic. She was in the hospital, which meant she'd gotten hurt. But she wasn't dead yet.

Well, she'd be dead after her father found out.

"Oh! You're awake, dearie." A nurse drifted in. "Your father's waiting outside. Shall I call him?"

"Please," croaked Elsa.

Her father shut the door after himself. Agdar looked older than his fifty-two years, the lines on his face made horribly apparent by the harsh hospital lighting. She hadn't seen him this worn since her mother's funeral, and felt horrible that she was the cause. "Elsa," he said, a smile creasing his features, "how are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, Papa." She hadn't called him that in years; his expression lost its ponderousness. "I'm sorry."

"Shhh, Elsa," he said, "now is not the time for that. What's important is that you are fine. Do you know what happened? How much do you remember?"

Elsa looked down. "I – I remember driving…" She screwed up her eyes. It hurt to think.

"You were in an accident. You've got a concussion and a few cuts and bruises, but thankfully that's all." Something hung in the edges of his tone. Elsa felt dread creeping through her veins.

"It is?"

"Yes."

"What happened to the others?"

Agdar paled. "The others?"

She forced herself to speak. "The other car I hit – I hit someone, didn't I?"

Her father sat down at her bedside, taking her hand in his – an affectionate gesture uncharacteristic of him. "Elsa, elskede," he began gently, using his old endearment for her, "you're not fully recovered yet. You've only just woken up; you've been asleep for two days – "

" – Tell me," she said, voice quivering. "Please."

He fell silent. "You hit another car and it spun into the traffic light. The driver and front-seat passenger were killed on impact."

Elsa felt like the world was spinning away.

"There was a survivor. The passenger in the backseat was trapped in the wreckage; but by the time they got her out, her legs had been crushed." Agdar squeezed his daughter's hands. "The doctors aren't sure if she'll ever walk again."

She was bone-white, whiter than her father. Her hands shook uncontrollably in his. When Agdar stiffly pulled her into a hug, it took her a while before the tears came.

When she came home late that night, Elsa was relieved to see Anna's windows dark. She set her dinner on the kitchen table and fired up her laptop. There had been several amusing altercations at work that day, and if she retooled it, she could use the material in her next chapter.

Less important today was the progress of the designs. The senior partner in charge, Oaken, had proved to be the right choice for the project; the client had loved the first draft. Privately, Elsa felt that there was too much wood for her tastes, but the client was happy, and that was all that mattered.

Elsa pulled her notepad out of her bag. She always carried one with her, for jotting down ideas and snippets of conversation she heard, to put into her work. It was a relatively easy process to rework the rough idea – and it had even inspired her to introduce a plot twist that would neatly tie up another loose end.

Pleased with her progress, she rewarded herself with Internet time, surfing random websites while she did some research on ballistics for the next chapter. Elsa found herself looking at apartments for sale. She wasn't pleased with the idea; she had grown rather attached to her apartment as it was her first real place of her own, and she had designed and furnished it herself, but Elsa wasn't sure how she was going to spend the rest of her life in close proximity with Anna.

Her phone rang, and she answered it absently, attention still focused on the computer screen.

"Hello, Elsa? It's Olaf."

"Olaf?" Her heart leapt into her throat. "O-oh yes."

"I've spoken with Anna." She could hear the social worker clearing his throat on the other end. "She moved out of her parents' house because she wanted to live independently. I think it's a good idea, really."

"… Wait, what?"

"Anna argued – and I agree – that she has to experience living independently sooner or later, and that she can't continue to rely on family. She's saved up quite a bit of money to rent her apartment and fit it with the modifications she needs; since she's put quite a lot of work into this, I can't help but think that there's nothing wrong with the arrangement."

Olaf's logic was sound, but every word sent a nail into her heart. Anna would certainly benefit, but Elsa couldn't say the same for herself. "… I see."

He clucked sympathetically. "I understand this is hard for you, Elsa, but she's already signed the lease."

"I could always move…"

"That would take time. How about this? Give it a month, and we'll see how the situation develops?"

A month. That felt like an eternity, but Elsa saw no better option. "Alright," she said, forcing cheer into her voice, "a month then."

The police came the next week, stereotypical down to the trench coats and world-weary demeanor. Elsa answered their questions and watched as they scribbled copious notes. Her father remained in the room the entire time, holding her hand.

Nothing came out of it all. The surviving girl had no other living relatives and she was in no condition to press charges. The state, her temporary guardian, opted not to take further action since Elsa was a minor and it was an open-and-shut case of driver negligence. Her license was suspended, and she'd been required to pay a fine. Her father was more than prepared to handle that.



"I'm sorry," said Elsa again once the detectives had left.

Agdar shook his head. "What's done is done, and I hope you've learned something from it," was all he said. "Let us not dwell on it. Dr. Sweet said you may be discharged next week, and we will meet with your teachers to discuss making up your schoolwork."

"Papa, what about the girl?"

"The girl?"

"In the other car. What's going to happen to her?"

He frowned. "… I don't know, Elsa. Why is it important?"

"I have to make it up to her." She was well aware that there was nothing that she could do that would ever make things right, but she had to do something.



"Elsa…"

"Please."

"… All right." Agdar got up. "I will talk to the detectives. Rest now."

Anna Iversen – the survivor from the black car – was in the same hospital, though the detectives hadn't disclosed her ward number. She was thirteen years old. Too old to be put up for adoption, too young to be alone in the world.

"What will happen to her?"

Agdar looked up from the papers in his lap. "She'll continue to be a ward of the state, either in foster care or a state orphanage until she comes of age, the latter being more probable; most people won't take in a teenage foster child, let alone one with special needs." All this was said as gently as possible.

"Special needs?"

Elsa's father hesitated. "She'll need to be in a wheelchair for the rest of her life. The doctors couldn't save her legs."

The future seemed bleak. Guilt gnawed at Elsa's insides. "Isn't there another way? Anything we can do to help?"

"Elskede, if you're suggesting we take the girl in – "

"No!"

Agdar was startled by the force of her outburst. "Elsa?"

"No," she repeated, hands trembling, "I can't – she can't know what I did to her."

Her father watched her for a long moment before nodding.

They contacted Olaf Kristiansen, the state-appointed social worker in charge of Anna's case, to explain their plans. He agreed to be appointed Anna's guardian. Agdar paid for Anna's hospital fees. Olaf found a foster family to take her in, though Agdar – and once she was old enough, Elsa – would continue to support Anna financially through anonymous monthly cheques.

Most importantly, Olaf agreed to protect the Brundtlands' identity. All of this was arranged while Anna recovered in hospital.

The night before Elsa was to be discharged, she visited Anna's ward. Her nurse had been hesitant to reveal the ward number, so she was forced to sneak a peek at her clipboard while she was busy taking Elsa's blood pressure.

The ward was dark; Elsa was grateful for it. Agdar had paid to move her into a private room and for her to receive top-notch medical treatment.

The pale face was half-hidden by bandages, milky-white against the pillow. Red hair peeked out over her forehead.

Elsa stood at the foot of the bed, rigid with fear and guilt. "I'm sorry, Anna," she managed eventually, voice cracking on the girl's name, "I'm so sorry."