"Nico—" Thomas starts, but I'm already standing.
Katharina turns toward the window, looking out at the parking lot below. "At least they let her keep the fancy car."
I follow her gaze. Élise's Audi is still there, sleek and black and completely out of place in the team lot.
"I guess that's the Audi she ran away in," I say flatly.
The silence that follows is worse than the first one.
Martin clears his throat, clearly trying to break the tension. He glances at Thomas and Katharina, half-smiling. "You two didn't have this level of drama, turned you envy them?"
Thomas doesn't smile back. "I woke up in intensive care. Different genre of disaster."
Katharina reaches for his hand across the table. They don't say anything else.
I turn and walk out before anyone can stop me.
The hallway feels too long. The elevator takes too long. My room is too quiet when I finally get there, just my gear bag on the floor and the smell of hotel soap and someone else's life.
I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at my phone.
No messages from Élise yet.
I should feel good. Protective. Like I'm doing the right thing.
Instead, I just feel trapped.
***
The fish tank is marvelous. Orange-white striped clownfish chasing each other, a big blue tang nibbling at a stone, blue light and fresh colors and cute little hermit crabs with their long legs tasting the glass. I wouldn't need a mental coach if I had this at home. You'd have to relax just by looking at it.
It’s just that at this precise moment, not evenFinding Nemoon live stream does not help.
I've been dreading this moment for three days.
The Moreau flat sits on one of Salzburg's most expensive streets, the kind of address that comes with a view of the Hohensalzburg Fortress and neighbors who don't need to work. The entrance hall is all marble and cold light, a staircase curving up to the private floors. And this massive fish tank built into the wall, glowing like some kind of underwater dream.
Élise texted me this morning.He knows I'm leaving. Come when you're ready. I'll be upstairs packing.
I'm not ready. But I'm here anyway. Having come by train and three buses.
I hear footsteps behind me, and turn my gaze from the pack of Nemos. Not Élise. A man in his fifties, perfectly tailored charcoal suit, hair just starting to gray at the temples. He looks exactly like I expected, and nothing like I expected at the same time.
Laurent Moreau doesn't smile. He just extends a hand.
"Mr. Reiner. Finally meeting you—a pleasure." His grip is firm, controlled, the handshake of someone who's spent a lifetime sizing people up in boardrooms. "Or, as you're kidnapping my daughter, may I call you Nico?"
I shake his hand, force myself to hold his gaze. "Nico's fine."
"She's upstairs," Laurent says. "But I thought we might have a word first."
It's not a request.
He leads me into a side room, smaller than I expected but no less intimidating. Two chairs, a low table, a fireplace that's not lit. He sits, motions for me to do the same.
I sit. My hands feel too big, awkward on my knees.
Laurent studies me for a long moment, and I can feel the weight of it. The assessment. The calculation.
