“Does he normally do that?”
“No.” Aleks frowned and ran a hand through his thick hair. “You should go, but be careful not to be seen. I need to shower and get downstairs to meet him. Leave your things here. I’ll have the dress dry cleaned and sent to your room.”
“Okay, thank you.” I brushed past him and gathered up my purse and phone. The battery was nearly dead and I had a message from Caroline. “Actually, return the dress straight to Caroline. That’s who I borrowed it from. She’ll assume it’s from me. She’s in room 501.”
“All right,” he said.
All softness and amusement had been sucked from the room with Ross’s interruption. The stakes of our relationship were suddenly in sharp focus.
“Good luck in quali,” I said as I moved towards the door. He caught my arm and pulled me close, kissing my forehead.
“Thank you. Be careful.”
“I will.”
I opened the door slowly and peered out into the corridor, checking both ways. But it was deserted.
Shame wasn’t the right word as I scurried down the corridor, barefoot in men’s sweats. But it wasn’t far wrong either. It was a combination of guilt, anxiety, and the heavy sense of impending disaster.
Chapter Twenty Six – Seoul Qualifying Day
Elena Archer – Han River, Saturday Morning
The taxi pulled away in a rush of tyres and exhaust, leaving me standing alone at the edge of the river.
Some Gavit rose ahead—sleek and modern, its glass façade gleaming pale gold in the morning sunlight. The floating island sat tethered to the banks of the Han like a luxury liner docked for eternity. In the distance was the buzz of Seoul waking up—soft engines, the distant bark of a street vendor opening up, a woman in heels clicking down a pedestrian bridge. But here, on the riverside promenade, it was quiet. Suspended.
The air was cool and damp, touched by mist still lingering above the water. The surface rippled gently beneath the glassy buildings, throwing fragmented reflections up onto the walkways. A few joggers passed me, earbuds in, oblivious. I checked my phone. No signal down here. Of course.
I crossed the wide pedestrian bridge that led to the island, my footsteps echoing on the steel. I felt like I was stepping out of the real world and into something liminal—like the boundary between earth and water, reality and fiction, was thinner here.
At this hour, the floating island was already waking up. A few early couples wandered the walkways, coffee cups in hand. A pair of young women took selfies by the curved balustrades. Inside, sleek cafés and galleries had their doors open, light spilling onto the river-facing terraces. Classical music floated from hidden speakers, too tasteful to be distracting. It was the kind of place built for curated serenity—no shouting, no rushing, just gentle wealth and the illusion of safety.
But that illusion was brittle, and I wasn’t here for peace.
I followed the curve of the structure, passing clusters of tables where crisp linen shirts and soft-spoken voices hinted at diplomatic breakfasts or curated networking. I kept my head down.
The note hadn’t given me more than a time and place:Some Gavit. 9am.No café, no room number, no instructions.
I kept walking until I completed a full circuit of the gleaming structure. There was no sign of my mysterious informant. I found a quiet nook near the outer edge—one of the curved terraces that overlooked the river. A shallow bench arced along the glass railing, half in shadow. No one sat there. It was away from the main flow of people, just far enough to feel tucked out of sight without being isolated.
I perched on the edge and folded my hands in my lap, pretending not to be anxious. Pretending I wasn’t listening for every footstep behind me.
The sun was climbing now, burning off the last of the river mist. It made the water look like molten bronze.
Footsteps approached from behind. Not rushed, not hesitant—just steady. I glanced sideways and saw her.
She was alone.
The same woman who’d brushed against me at the bar last night. Blonde hair tucked behind her ears, no makeup, tailored black coat buttoned all the way up. She looked like someone on her way to a meeting. Effortlessly beautiful.
She didn’t speak. Just sat down beside me on the bench, leaving a polite gap between us. For a few seconds, neither of us said anything. I watched the water shifting below the floating buildings, waiting.
Finally, I turned to her. “So are you going to tell me who you are?”
Her gaze flicked to mine. “Sabine Roth.”
“FIA?”
