The winds howled cold and sharp off the Baltic Sea as a train slid into Helsinki Central Station.
It was December 2, 1937.
A small honor guard stood silently on the platform, breath visible in the air, rifles polished but unraised.
Protocol remained intact, but the ceremony was subdued.
President Kyösti Kallio adjusted his thick wool coat and stepped forward as the Swedish delegation disembarked.
At their head was Prime Minister Per Albin Hansson, tall and solid, his jaw clenched beneath a scarf.
They exchanged polite smiles and brief handshakes, cameras clicking quietly before they disappeared into waiting black cars.
Inside the presidential residence.
Only three men sat around it Kallio, Hansson, and Juho Paasikivi, Finland's foreign minister.
No aides.
No transcripts.
"Per," Kallio began after a long silence.
"I'll speak plainly. Estonia fell like frost before morning."
Hansson nodded slowly, removing his gloves. "Yes. We've seen the reports. Not a single shot."
