Damien walked into the quiet room, his phone pressed to his ear. His eyes were sharp, his steps slow. Something was off.
"Yes, keep eyes on the southern fence," he said into the phone. "No one leaves without my permission."
He ended the call and went to stay by the window. Rain tapped gently against the glass so Evelyn went into the other room and slept, curled up like a child. But Damien couldn’t rest. Not now.
There was a storm coming and it wasn’t just outside.
Earlier that day, Damien had received a strange message on his private line.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
Check your own house before hunting ghosts.
That was it. No name. No location. Just that.
His heart had dropped. He hadn’t told anyone except three people about the new safehouse in Switzerland. Only three.
He pulled out the name
