~ 33 ~
PEYTON
After Belize, the cold was a slap in the face. A kick to the crotch. A punch to the—
“Fuckthis.”
Ripley’s grunt of disapproval mirrored my own. It still made me laugh, though, as we stepped off the jet at Keflavík, with the wind whipping around our tired legs.
“I can’t even take a deep breath,” Ripley complained. “This should be against the law. Air shouldn’t hurt your lungs.”
The air was crisp and clean, at least. No humidity. No salt. Just wind and cold and the enormity of the wide, endless sky that stretched over us, from horizon to distant horizon.
Iceland.
It was a place I’d never been. A place I’d only read about, or viewed photos of, or seen in movies.
Apparently, Donovan was continuing to stretch the boundaries of my world, even after I ended our relationship in a cloud of burning rubber.
I looked to Theo, all bleary-eyed from the twin flights it took to get here. His connections had been solid. Everything had happened fast, and under the radar. All facilitated by people he trusted.
And if Theo trusted them, they were the kind of people you wanted watching your back.
“Come on,” said Colson, urging us forward. “The less exposure the better.”
The black SUV waiting for us hummed gently. Colson scanned every snowbank on the tarmac until we were inside. We passed through Reykjavik at dusk, until the city faded away and the roads grew thin. The last of the buildings disappeared, and the sprawling lava fields stretched into nothing. All beneath a staggeringly anonymous sky.
When the house finally came into view, my eyes widened. Matte black wood, clean lines, floor-to-ceiling windows; all jutting from the earth like it had grown straight from the landscape. Tall panes of glass reflected acres of mountains and open sky, while distant curls of steam rose from the geothermal venting.
The place certainly didn’t look like a hideout. But there wasn’t a trace of anything resembling a structure or tree for miles.
Theo unlocked it remotely with his laptop, while Colson walked the perimeter. And then we were inside, mercifully shielded from the wind. Warmth wrapped around us instantly, radiating up through the floor. I stared out through the frosted glass, watching the sun dip slowly beneath the horizon. The snow came down in sideways ribbons.
“Not bad,” Ripley admitted.
The place was all smooth wood and pale stone, withminimal furniture and a kitchen that looked like it belonged thirty years in the future. The lighting was a warm, bluish-white. The air calm, the silence peaceful.
For the first time since we barely slipped out of Belize, I let my shoulders drop.
We were alone. No drones. No extraction teams. No spies hiding behind every palm tree, because there were no trees.
We were safe again.
As safe as we could be, anyway.
“I know it feels like we’re on display,” said Theo, “but the glass is thermal-treated. You can’t see through it from any sort of distance.”
Ripley tapped it with a finger. “But up close?”
“Up close it’s the same both ways,” Theo shrugged. “We’ve got an extensive camera system though. Cutting edge, 4k, covering every angle in every direction. No one will get near this place without us knowing.”
Colson entered, having finished his sweep. He was covered in snow, but looked fully satisfied.
“We’re alone.”
The electronic door locked behind him; two beeps accompanied by a comforting ‘ch-thunk.’ As it did, a light on the panel blinked from green to red. It felt final, but also, reassuring.
“Home sweet home,” sighed Ripley.
