The air at the airport was thick with nerves.
Jakob stood pressed against Orla’s side, clutching a sketchpad he hadn’t let go of since Munich. His thumb traced circles over the edge of the page while his eyes scanned every face that passed through the terminal doors.
“Do you think he’ll recognize me again?” he whispered.
“He will,” Orla murmured. “Some things, you just feel.”
Stanley stood a few feet away, checking his watch, his stance tight and unreadable. He hadn’t said much since they got back from Germany. He was protective again—silent, watchful, already preparing for what might go wrong.
A tall man in a navy coat stepped through the arrivals gate, flanked by an airport official. Elias followed behind—head high, suitcase in hand, eyes wide and alert.
Jakob took a shaky step for
