The house did not sleep anymore.
It breathed in tension.
Every sound carried meaning. Every shadow suggested threat. Every silence stretched too long.
Lena stood by the living room window, arms folded tightly across her chest, watching the security lights sweep across the garden in slow, mechanical arcs. The night outside looked deceptively calm — manicured hedges, soft wind, moonlight resting gently over the lawn.
But calm had become an illusion she no longer trusted.
Behind her, she heard Zayn’s voice — low, controlled — finishing a call with Martin. Instructions. Coordinates. Protocols. Layers upon layers of protection that still did not quiet the unease inside her bones.
She turned when he ended the call.
His expression alone told her everything.
Still no capture.
Still no cer
