They drove straight from The Hague to the airport.

No celebrations. No media tours. Just the four of them in an SUV. Dante. Sienna. Leo. Catarina.

Heading home.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

Dante looked at Sienna. "Where do you want to go?"

She thought about it. New York was too full of memories. Too full of ghosts. Arthur. Julian. The penthouse where it all started.

Lisbon had the compound. The destruction. The blood on the floors.

"The Azores," she said. "São Miguel. Where we stayed with Marta."

"The Azores?" Dante seemed surprised.

"It's beautiful. Peaceful. Far from everything." She looked at Leo. He was drawing in a notebook. Oblivious...