4 Months. 3 Weeks. 2 Days.

4 months, 3 weeks, 2 days.

And a few hours since she had set foot back on Romanian land.

A collage of various newspapers articles glanced back at her from the wooden desk. A dim light thrown by a lamp illuminated the writing on the papers. A few titles were visible completely, other just a part of them. But Alexandra knew almost every word from each of the article. How could she not when she was directly involved in all of them?

Some spoke of accidental deaths of various wealthy, important people in Romania. Next to them, a list with the names of the people mentioned in the articles, each crossed with red line. None were accidents but besides Alexandra there wasn’t anyone else who knew or even suspected that. One promise she’d made to herself was fulfilled. The members of the organization her father had created were dead now. Romanian mutants were safe from being sold as … slaves. At least for now.

Some spoke of various press conferences that Alexandra Kettler, daughter of the ‘regretted’ senator Kettler had held. All concerning the mutants-humans relations. The shocking news that she had publicly admitted that she possessed the X-Gene. Her role as a mediator between the humans and the members of the Underground along with Pacifica. Her role as an initiator of the PAX Academy Project, the first institution specialized in the coexistence of humans and mutants. That however was purely a role played by the Kabal member. Slate pulled the strings and she was just the face that this sort of institution needed. Born and raised in Romania. Daughter of a senator. A mutant. People liked that.

Her job was to instruct people to take over her job when she left. Mutants the most. The members of the Underground that didn’t have a loyalty command implanted into their heads. People who had lived the horrors of the camps. It wasn’t easy but in the past months they’d changed. They were ready to coexist and teach others to coexist as well. Another promise fulfilled.

Order replaced chaos. The mess has been fixed. Her job wasn’t done yet but there was nothing more she could do in Romania.

A hand traveled toward the various papers to retrieve them. With slow steps, she walked over to the fireplace. There wasn’t any fire burning but she threw the papers inside anyway. A lighter was retrieved from the pocket of her jeans. Seconds later, the papers started to be consumed by fire.

The flames danced in the blue eyes of the goddess of molecules.

Four months. Three weeks. Two days. A few hours.

And it was time to leave.

But first, she had to make a phone call.