Ranon stepped through the villa door a little after nine. The taste of expensive wine and cheaper threats still sat heavy on his tongue. The meeting with Lorenzo had gone exactly as calculated. Two concessions granted. One withheld. Enough to show movement without bleeding any actual ground. The Portuguese routes stayed untouched. The real game stayed hidden. But the cost had settled behind his eyes like a migraine that refused to bloom and just kept pressing.
He loosened his tie as he crossed the house. Shoes quiet on the tiles. And he found her in the garden.
Sera stood near the stone fountain with a book in one hand. The other absently turning a page she probably wasn't reading. Evening light caught in her hair and softened the sharp lines of her face. She looked like she belonged here. That was the dangerous part. She hadn't heard him yet. For three full seconds he let himself watch her without the mask. Just her. Breathing. Alive. His.
