The path to the cliff was a treacherous spine of loose shale and jagged limestone, a route Giulia had climbed a thousand times as a child, but never with a handgun tucked into her waistband and the weight of a stolen life on her shoulders. Behind her, Alessandro moved with the silent, rhythmic efficiency of a man who had spent his life in the shadows of power.
“Five hundred yards,” Alessandro whispered, his voice barely audible over the crashing surf below. “The perimeter guards are using thermal optics. If we move into the open, we’re glowing targets.”
Giulia looked up at the silhouette of the lighthouse. It stood like a broken tooth against the sky, blackened and hollow. The fire had taken the glass, the servers, and perhaps her brother, but it hadn’t taken the stone.
“The drainage pi
