And stepped toward the waiting car.
The SUV's door felt heavier than it should when she pulled it open, as if the air inside resisted her entry. She slid into the back seat cautiously, suitcase beside her, the interior swallowed in shadows despite the faint dawn leaking through the tinted windows.
The man waiting inside was in his early thirties, dressed in a fitted black coat that didn't crease even as he shifted slightly to look at her. His face was refined, symmetrical, the sort of face that could be pleasant if not for the complete emotional vacancy behind his eyes.
"Elara Vance," he greeted, smooth and unhurried. "Right on time."
The door shut beside her with a muted thump, sealing her inside with him. The lock clicked.
Elara kept her back straight, her hand resting on the handle of her suitcase as she studied him with guarded tension. "You know my name," she said. "I still don't know yours."
He smiled faintly—too faint to be friendly, too rehearsed to be genuine. "You won't need it."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one permitted." He turned his gaze briefly to the front. "We'll be departing now."
The SUV rolled forward smoothly, almost gliding along the empty street. The dawn light sharpened as they turned the first corner.
But Elara couldn't stop herself—she glanced back through the rear window.
The hooded figure across the street had stepped out of the alley.
And was walking into the road.
Following them.
Not hurriedly. Not trying to catch up.
Just following.
Her breath snagged. "Who was that?"
The man didn't look back. "Irrelevant."
"That didn't look irrelevant."
"If it becomes relevant," he said, voice cooling, "I'll inform you."
Elara stared at him, disbelief prickling through her. "You're not even curious?"
"I don't operate on curiosity." His tone stayed perfectly flat. "Curiosity gets people killed."
The SUV turned again, cutting off her view of the street entirely. Elara sank back into her seat, fingers tightening on the suitcase handle until her knuckles whitened. The interior lights remained off, leaving the man's face half-hidden.
He reached into the console beside him and pulled out a small folder—matte black, embossed only with a thin silver line along the edge.
"This," he said, placing it on the seat between them, "contains the pre-arrival protocol. You'll read it on the way."
She hesitated. "Is this about the restoration project?"
He tilted his head slightly, an almost animal-like motion. "Everything we do is about the restoration project."
"That's not an answer either."
"It's the only one you're receiving."
She wanted to push. But instinct—sharp, primal—warned her not to. Not with him. Not yet.
Instead she opened the folder.
Inside were three items:
1. A slim manual titled CONDUCT AND COMPLIANCE — PHASE I
2. A photograph of an old estate on a cliff, fog swirling around its edges
3. A single line written in bold at the bottom of the page:
Report directly to the Overseer upon arrival.
She looked up sharply. "Overseer? Who is—"
"You'll meet him soon."
Something about the way he said him made a tremor slide through her ribs.
The SUV slowed briefly as it approached an intersection. The man's eyes flicked toward the side mirror, and for the first time, a single crack in his composure appeared.
His jaw tightened.
Elara followed his gaze.
A figure had appeared at the intersection behind them—hooded, the same height, the same posture.
Watching.
This time closer.
"Is it the same person?" she asked quietly.
He didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
His hand moved subtly toward the front console, fingers hovering over a button she couldn't see.
The SUV accelerated abruptly, the engine's low roar vibrating through the floor.
Elara's pulse thundered in her ears.
The man's voice, calm but edged with steel, broke the silence.
"Ms. Vance," he said, eyes still on the mirror, "for your safety, do not look back again."