KEFLAVÍK AIRPORT, ICELAND | TWO WEEKS AFTER VERDICT | 3:15 PM
The ash-gray runway of Keflavík Airport emerged from beneath the clouds like a long, deliberate rest between movements. Stella watched through the oval window as the plane’s shadow skimmed over moss-covered lava fields—a fleeting dark shape against an ancient, unmoving darkness.
She had packed only one suitcase. Inside, folded between wool sweaters, was the manila envelope Sir James had given her. Unopened. She’d considered leaving it in London, but some part of her needed to carry it across this threshold—not as burden, but as witness.
Hunter stood at arrivals in a thick Icelandic sweater the color of wet stone. No sign, no wave. He simply waited, hands in pockets, as she walked the length of the corridor. When she reached h
