The retreat to New Zealand was supposed to be the final chapter, a quiet coda to a symphony of steel and static. They had chosen the South Island, a jagged sanctuary of turquoise glacial lakes and mountains that felt old enough to have forgotten the names of men.
The house was a marvel of minimalist timber and glass, tucked into a fold of the Southern Alps overlooking Lake Tekapo. For three weeks, the only sounds were the wind in the tussock grass and the soft, rhythmic breathing of Elena Laurent as she sat on the deck, her eyes finally clear of the violet haze. Ethan spent his days chopping wood, his amber eye dimmed to a dull honey color, while Marcus patrolled the perimeter with a local’s rugged indifference.
Lila stood in the kitchen, the scent of manuka honey and fresh bread a grou
