The air in Prague was colder than expected.
As the black car curved through the dim-lit streets of Old Town, Logan Mason sat beside Aurora Sage in tense silence. The sky was overcast, the light gray and brittle, like the city itself was holding its breath. Narrow buildings leaned into one another as if whispering secrets. Even the wind here seemed to know better than to speak too loud.
But Logan wasn't paying attention to the architecture or the history. His eyes were on Aurora.
She hadn't spoken much since they landed. The only words she'd offered were instructions—to the driver, to a man on a secure call, to someone named Viktor whom Logan hadn't seen but now deeply disliked. She'd become ice again—beautiful, unreadable, and terrifying.
Logan finally broke the silence. "This safehouse… what exactly was in it?"
Aurora didn't look at him. "Files. Intel. A ledger tied to Ashcroft's southern operation."
