I forced myself to walk over to where I had seen blood earlier.
Kneeling. Touching it. Still slightly tacky.
Not hours old.
Minutes.
Elena had been here.
Bleeding here.
I swallowed the bile rising in my throat.
My hands trembled — the first sign of emotional instability I allowed myself to show.
I stood again abruptly.
This house was no longer safe.
I pulled my phone from my pocket.
The screen lit up.
Three hundred and nine missed calls.
From Elena.
Three hundred and nine.
My throat tightened.
The first call timestamp showed eight hours ago.
The last one —
Two minutes before my jet took off from Athens.
I stared at the numbers.
She had been calling me while they were already inside.
While they were breaking doors.
While they were dragging her.
My phone had been on silent.
Airplane mode activated during takeoff.
I had told myself I would call her once I landed.
I wanted to surprise her.
Tell her I had handled loose ends in Greece.
That threats had been neutralized.
That we were safe.
