Alex reaches for the contract before Vesna can reconsider. The paper is stiff and cool, smelling of old ink and something faintly floral. He squints at the faded Cyrillic script. "I can't actually read—" Mira leans over his shoulder and locates the Latin transcription at the bottom margin. "Petar Vuković," she reads, then pauses. "And... Ilija Vuković." She looks up. "They have the same surname." Vesna nods once, slowly, like a judge delivering a considered sentence. "Brothers," she says. "Petar believed the bell should ring at sunrise. Ilija believed it should ring at noon." She takes the contract back with two fingers. "They argued for eleven months. Then one of them—" she taps the paper with her index finger, "—did something that brought the tower down entirely." Outside, the storm holds its breath. "Which one?" Alex asks. Vesna picks up the key.