A cold morning in Brussels.

The sky hung heavy with clouds, casting a gloomy tone over the narrow streets of Ixelles. A rented car moved slowly through the quiet neighborhood. Hunter sat behind the wheel, while Evalina sat beside him, clutching a folder filled with copies of documents from Elric Dawson.

“Number 47, Rue des Champs. That’s the house,” Evalina said, pointing toward a small, two-story building that looked old and nearly abandoned.

Hunter slowed the car and parked across the street.

“You’re sure she still lives here?” he asked.

“Elric said she hasn’t left the house since she fled England. She’s traumatized.”

Hunter nodded. They got out of the...