The war didn’t end in Vienna.

It started there.

Two days after the opera house takedown, Lucien and I stood at the edge of an estate tucked deep in the Austrian countryside. A safehouse, though that word had begun to lose meaning. Nowhere felt safe anymore.

Inside, Brandy slept—heavily sedated, ribs still healing.

Outside, the world churned.

Caleb paced the terrace, muttering into his phone in German. Luca had returned to the States to reinforce security at the New York estate. And Lucien… Lucien sat with a file open in his lap, his fingers pressed against his temple as if he could squeeze clarity from the pages.

I leaned against...