Of course, there would be real attendees at her event. Klara had done a lot of groundwork, and her day job gave her the bona fides to run this event. Plus, her side project, as head of the Baltic Wings NGO, cemented her as a staunch environmentalist and a lover of birds, so she’d easily snagged Dr. Anu Ristmägi of the Estonian Ornithological Institute and Dr. Elias Thorne, professor of environmental systems at the University of Kiel, Germany, among others.
She went over the program for the Baltic Wings Festival once more, making sure she had all her t’s crossed. Not only did each site hold very real interest for bird and nature lovers, each had some proximity that would provide strategic tactical advantage. For example, the activities she had advertised for Fårö Island highlighted the migration routes of the ruff, which was known for its showy breeding plumage and lek behavior, flaunting extravagant head tufts and collar feathers in open marshes. At the same time, agents on the island would enjoy a strategic position where there were very few law enforcement personnel to make any sort of resistance.
When she was finished with those initial tasks, Klara decided it was time for a break and walked to St. Hans Café, situated next to the St. Hans church ruin that she frequently visited, especially during the warmer months, when the café had outdoor seating set up in the ruins itself. It made for a great ambience when meeting with academic liaisons or hosting “sustainability fellows.”
“By yourself today, Klara?” asked the manager, a woman named Annika Bragefeldt.
“Yes,” Klara responded with a smile. “I just finished some major tasks for BRRI, and I thought I should celebrate.”
“Ah, well, we are happy to have you on this dreary January morning,” Annika replied. “Do you want the usual?”
“Yes, please,” answered Klara.
“One St. Hans Blend with Gotländsk Saffranspannkaka, coming up,” said Annika.
Soon, Klara had her hands around a mug of warm tea and a beloved Gotland specialty — a saffron pancake served warm, made from rice pudding, cream, saffron, and egg, topped with local dewberry jam. It was very traditional — a cultural heritage dish that balanced austerity with indulgence, like the island itself.
Annika was a retired teacher turned café manager, and a bit of a busybody. Always suspicious of outsiders, she kept meticulous records and had her eye on everything. Klara had managed to get on her good side by being extremely predictable and showing her true love of all things Gotland. Later, she would talk Annika into sharing all the new local gossip with her.
Klara smiled.
The breakout room smelled faintly of wet coats, cheap coffee, and ambition. Klara Hedevig sat cross-legged on the carpeted floor, the required six feet away from a UN volunteer from Estonia and a “rewilding specialist” from Kyrgyzstan who kept quoting Žižek between sips of birch sap tonic. His mask hung from one ear whenever he drank, and he promptly put it back on after each sip. Around her, twenty young, masked climate delegates debated decarbonization equity frameworks in the Baltic — Black Sea corridor.
But Klara wasn’t listening anymore. Her gaze was fixed on the man near the bookshelf, in the gray wool blazer with the pale pink tie: Dr. Sergei Anatolyev, introduced earlier as a visiting lecturer from the Saint Petersburg Institute of Eco-Geopolitics.
He had asked only one question during the last session — but it sliced through the fluff like a hawk through mist.
“If EU green transition funds are being used to build LNG terminals in Klaipėda and Świnoujście, are we really discussing energy resilience — or just NATO logistics in disguise?” he’d probed.
That was when Klara had first looked up.
Now, as the group dispersed for lunch, he crossed the room toward her.
“You’re the student from Lund, yes? The LUMES program?” he asked, voice low, warm. He spoke precise English, but with a slight Russian accent.
“Yes,” Klara replied, cautious but curious. “Klara Hedevig.”
He nodded. “You spoke earlier about Gotland’s offshore wind potential. Your passion was clear.”
“Not that it matters,” she said, a little sharper than she meant to. “Sweden just approved a military expansion zone over the best wind corridor. NATO takes priority.”
Dr. Anatolyev chuckled quietly. “Spoken like someone who still believes the system should live up to its promises.”
She wasn’t sure if he was mocking her — but she didn’t recoil.
“I read your name in the delegate list,” he continued, producing a slim pamphlet from his satchel. It was a Russian-language academic quarterly titled
