“they don’t fix things.”
A beat.
“They end them.”
72
Lark
Location: Safehouse — Mountains Outside Lisbon
Time: Five Hours Later
You can feel them before you see them.
The air changes.
Subtle.
But absolute.
The first arrives by helicopter.
No markings. No chatter. Just a controlled descent that feels more like a calculation than a landing.
The second comes through the front door forty minutes later—
Tourist jacket. Passport. Civilian mask.
Eyes that miss nothing.
The third…
Doesn’t arrive.
He’s just suddenly there. The others follow him.
Inside the room.
No door opening. No warning.
Just presence.
I don’t ask how.
I already know the answer.
They move differently than anyone I’ve ever seen.
Not tense.
Not aggressive.
Certain.
Like the outcome is already decided—they’re just here to carry it out.
One of them steps closer.
