Paris and Michaela grew up together, in a seaside town that smelled of salt, memories, innocence, but also lies, repressed emotion and repression. The two of them, tied by that thread that had no name. It was neither friendship, nor love, nor blood. It was all together. Until it was nothing. You don't kill love with a knife. You kill it with a word that shouldn't have been said. One sentence from Paris destroyed everything. She, who listened to him without being supposed to, left.