Ellsworth’s eyes moved to the camera, then back to me. “Leave it,” he said gently, as if he knew I’d use it like armor if I carried it right now. “You won’t need it.”
The simple certainty in his voice made my eyes sting.
I set it down carefully, like I was placing a part of myself somewhere safe.
Then I followed Ellsworth out.
The hallway felt too bright, too ordinary. The residency’s quiet elegance suddenly obscene against whatever waited.
Outside, Paris continued moving as if nothing had changed.
Scooters. Footsteps. A woman pushing a stroller while talking into her phone. A man carrying baguettes like he was transporting sacred objects.
Life.
Uninterrupted.
Ellsworth led me toward a dark car tucked along the curb. The men he’d assigned—so discreet I’d barely noticed them earlier—shifted subtly, creating a corridor of space without ever drawing attention.
I slid into the back seat, hands clenched in my lap.
Ellsworth got in beside the driver, and the car pulled away with a smoothness that felt practiced.
“What happened?” I asked again, softer now. “Please.”
Ellsworth’s shoulders stayed squared, but his voice went quieter. “Connor learned something,” he said. “Something … personal.”
My lungs tightened.
“Merrick,” I whispered.
Ellsworth didn’t confirm. Didn’t deny.
Which was confirmation enough.
I pressed my forehead briefly to the cool window, watching Paris blur past, my thoughts trying to sprint ahead and failing. My mind kept snagging on images—Connor’s hands. Connor’seyes. Connor’s voice when he’d told me about the fire that killed his parents, the way he’d said it flat like he’d packed it into a box years ago and taped it shut.
If that box had just been ripped open?—
My stomach turned.
“I should’ve been with him,” I said, the words bitter and useless.
Ellsworth’s voice came back, measured. “He didn’t want you near it. He wanted you safe.”
“I don’t care,” I snapped, then immediately regretted it. “I mean—I care. But I don’t want him alone.”
“He’s not alone,” Ellsworth said. A pause. “Not anymore. Not now that you’re coming.”
The car turned down the same quiet street I’d walked earlier that morning—the one that looked forgettable on purpose. Tall, dignified buildings pressed close together, their facades understated, almost anonymous. No signs. No spectacle. Just the kind of elegance that had learned how to disappear.
My pulse slammed harder when I recognized it.
Ellsworth opened my door, and I stepped out into air that felt cooler here, shaded by familiar stone. The Sanctuary again. Too soon. As if the building itself had barely finished exhaling after I left.
We moved quickly through the entryway I now knew by feel rather than sight, past walls that held more history than they ever revealed. Up the same stairs, my footsteps echoing sharper than before, my body already braced for something it hadn’t known how to name that morning. The corridor smelled faintly of clean linens and something darker beneath it—metal, maybe. Or adrenaline. Or the lingering residue of lives that were rarely allowed to be soft for long.
My breath was coming too fast.
