Time: Morning
The knock is wrong.
Not loud.
Not aggressive.
Not tactical.
Measured.
Controlled.
Official.
Three even taps.
My eyes are open before the second one lands.
I’m already moving.
Already armed.
Already placing myself between the door—
And Lark.
Ronan’s voice cuts in, tight. “We’ve got movement. Multiple vehicles. They just came online.”
“What kind of movement?” I ask.
A pause.
Then—
“…Police.”
My jaw tightens.
“How many?”
“Enough,” he says, “to make this political.”
Of course they did.
The knock comes again.
Same rhythm.
Same control.
A voice follows—calm, amplified just enough to carry through the door.
“Dr. Lark London? This is the Polícia Judiciária. We have a warrant for your arrest.”
Behind me—
I feel her go still.
