There were eyes on them. Amelia could feel it before she saw the signs the faint pulse of being observed, that prickle at the back of the neck when silence feels too exact, too deliberate. It had been three days since Rotterdam. Three days since the ambush that turned into a narrow victory.

The team had scattered across the safehouse, recalibrating, patching up wounds both visible and hidden. But Amelia noticed things small things a shift in their comms signal strength, the flicker of static ...