"Where are we going?" Aria asked.
Damien's hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles bone-white beneath the early morning light. The car sped down a narrow two-lane road, headlights cutting through mist that rose from the ditches like ghosts. "Somewhere Victor doesn't know. Another safe house. Different city entirely."
"How many of those do you have?"
"Enough." He glanced at the rearview mirror. Empty asphalt stretched behind them, no headlights, no shadows. "My father built them for paranoia. I inherited them for survival."
Aria looked out the window. Trees blurred past – pines, oaks, maples she could not name, their branches heavy with dew. Then Damien's phone buzzed against the console. He glanced at the screen, and his expression hardened.
"Victor knows Marcus escaped," he said q
