Chapter 10
299 Words
THE SAFEHOUSE
The Ferrari disappeared into the Swiss mountains just before sunrise.
Lucian turned onto a road that didn't appear on any navigation system.
Elara watched the trees pass.
“Where are we going?”
“My house.”
“You have a house in Switzerland?”
“I have several.”
“Of course you do.”
Twenty minutes later, enormous iron gates opened.
Beyond them stood a modern glass-and-stone mansion overlooking the Alps.
Elara stepped out.
“This is a safehouse?”
Lucian removed his coat.
“Technically.”
She stared at the mansion.
“Your definition of safehouse is disturbing.”
He almost smiled.
Inside, everything was minimalist—dark marble, glass walls, hidden technology.
Elara immediately noticed something.
“There are no cameras.”
“There are.”
“I can't detect them.”
“Exactly.”
She looked at him.
“You built this place.”
“Yes.”
“For someone running from governments?”
“For someone who doesn't like being found.”
Lucian walked toward a secure room.
Elara followed.
Inside was a wall covered with photographs.
Her.
At different ages.
Five.
Eight.
Twelve.
Sixteen.
Twenty.
Elara's expression hardened.
“You said you watched me for three years.”
“I lied.”
“How long?”
Lucian didn't answer.
“How long?”
“Since you were sixteen.”
She stared at him.
“You've been watching me for eight years?”
“Protecting you.”
“You call surveillance protection?”
“When someone is hunting you, yes.”
Elara stepped closer.
“Who?”
Lucian looked at the photographs.
“The people who killed your father.”
Her breath caught.
“My father is alive.”
Lucian looked at her.
“I never said he was dead.”
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