“Change direction,” I murmur.
We do.
The van corrects.
“That’s not confidence,” Lark says under her breath. “That’s confirmation.”
“Yeah,” I say. “They found us.”
We duck into a narrow passage between buildings, cut through a bakery's back door, and out into a kitchen full of startled workers and flour dust.
No one screams.
Good.
We’re out the back and into a waiting car, Ronan staged for contingencies.
Engine already running.
We’re gone before the van reaches the corner.
Only then do I breathe.
Only then do I look at her.
“You okay?”
She nods.
Then, very quietly: “They weren’t trying to take me.”
“No,” I agree. “They were checking if they could.”
11
Lark
Location: Secondary Safehouse — Outside Lisbon
Time: Afternoon
The new place is smaller.
Quieter.
One bedroom.
One couch.
One exit.
It feels like a held breath.
Aaron checks everything. Windows. Locks. Signals. Corners.
I look around and try not to think about how close the walls are.
Eventually he stops.
