SOPHIA'S POV

The rain in Geneva fell in long, heavy sheets, like silver needles hitting the dark water of the lake and turning the streetlights into soft pools of yellow.

Our hiding place for the night was an underground garage beneath an old, empty cloth factory on the edge of the city, where the factories stood. It smelled of damp concrete, old motor oil, and iron. Water dripped from a crack in the low roof into a rusty bucket in the corner, and every drip echoed in the big, empty space. A single lamp hung over the workbench and made a small circle of yellow light. Everything outside that circle...