Vinohrady was nothing like I'd expected.
I'd imagined my mother hiding in some grim safe house, or a dingy apartment in an industrial district. Somewhere you could disappear into the shadows.
Instead, Jakub drove us through elegant tree-lined streets with Art Nouveau buildings painted in soft pastels. Cafes with outdoor seating despite the October chill. Well-dressed locals walking small dogs. It looked like a neighborhood from a European travel magazine.
"She's been here the whole time?" I asked, staring out the window.
"Yes." Jakub pulled up in front of a beautiful cream-colored building with ornate balconies and arched windows. "Before that, she lived in Žižkov. Different neighborhood, similar setup. She moves every few years. Changes her appearance. Her name. Her routine."
"But she stays in Prague," Sarah observed.
