The rain in Zurich had turned into a needle-like sleet by the time Elea arrived at the safe house on the outskirts of the city. It was a derelict industrial unit, its windows boarded with rotting plywood and its air thick with the smell of stagnant water and old grease. She kept her hood pulled low, her gloved hand resting discreetly on the grip of the compact pistol tucked into her waistband. Every shadow in this place felt like a threat, every creak of the metal rafters sounded like a footstep.
Eigar Bowie was waiting for her in the center of the cavernous room, illuminated by a single flickering work light. He didn't possess Ethel’s cold, calculated elegance. Eigar was a man of jagged edges and explosive temperament, his presence vibrating with a restless, violent energy that made Ele
