The rain had started again by the time Orla slipped through the twisted back alleys of Prague’s Žižkov district. Night had swallowed the city, but the wet streets shimmered under the flickering glow of neon signs, reflecting the chaos she felt inside.
Her breath came steady, controlled. Every step was measured. Every sound sharpened. The leather jacket clung to her skin, soaked through but offering no comfort—only the promise of protection.
She was alone.
Exactly as they demanded.
Her pulse raced, but not with fear.
With purpose.
The message on Lazarus’s cracked phone burned in her mind:
Come alone. Or we start erasing him.
The boy. The one they’d kidnapped. The innocent child they’d sworn to protect.
Orla’s throat tightened. She swallowed hard and tightened her grip on the cold s
