I couldn’t sleep. The events of the last twenty-four hours played on a loop in my mind, each revelation stacking like an unstable tower. George was asleep beside me, his arm draped protectively over my waist, his breathing steady. But I couldn’t close my eyes. Not with the echo of that voice in my earpiece from the estate: "The real conductor has yet to take the stage."
The shadows were louder than silence.
I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him, and padded into the living room of the safe house. Monica sat there with her laptop, her eyes rimmed with fatigue, hair tied in a messy knot, and a steaming mug of coffee balanced on the armrest. She looked up as I entered.
“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked softly.
I shook my head. “I need to know who that voice belonged to. We’re missing som
