They returned to land just before dawn.
Salt still clung to Orla’s skin like blood. Her fingers trembled around the device that might save her daughter—or destroy what little was left of her.
Stanley helped her from the sub, hands steady, eyes colder than ever.
They didn’t speak until they were back at the safehouse in Budapest, doors locked and windows covered.
Amira sat in the same spot on the floor, knees tucked, hands folded tightly as if afraid to move. Her eyes flicked up when Orla entered. She didn’t speak. But this time, she didn’t look away.
Orla knelt.
“I brought something,” she whispered. “It might help. But you have to trust me.”
Stanley stepped forward with the case. Inside, the Vesper device blinked softly—green light pulsing like a heartbeat.
“She’s not going to unde
