Chapter 6 Aaron
Aaron
Location: Safehouse — Lisbon
Time: Dawn
The city hasn’t woken yet.
That’s the only reason we still have a margin.
I stand at the window with the blinds cracked just enough to watch the street below. Lisbon breathes differently at this hour—delivery vans, a jogger who doesn’t know how close he is to crossing a kill box, a woman unlocking a bakery like nothing in the world is wrong.
Behind me, Lark’s laptop sits closed.
I don’t like that it exists.
I like even less what’s inside it.
Ronan’s voice comes through the comms, low and controlled. “We’ve looped local feeds. No uniformed presence. No spikes.”
“They won’t rush,” I say. “They’ve already adjusted.”
“I know,” he answers. “That’s what worries me.”
I kill the channel and turn away from the window.
Lark sits on the couch, posture straight, eyes alert despite the exhaustion weighing on her like gravity. She hasn’t slept. Neither have I.
“You’re not going anywhere today,” I tell her.
Her jaw tightens. “I figured.”
“This isn’t a suggestion.”
She nods once, absorbing it. No theatrics. No panic.
That restraint is dangerous—for both of us.
“I’ve arranged rotation,” I continue. “No predictable patterns. No direct exposure. You stay inside until we relocate you.”
Her gaze sharpens. “Relocate me where?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On how much of the list we can map before they realize we’ve shifted strategy.”
She leans forward, elbows on her knees. “You’re treating me like a package.”
“I’m treating you like a high-value asset,” I correct.
Her eyes flash. “I’m not an asset.”
“No,” I say, voice steady. “You’re the reason they’re exposed. That makes you leverage whether you want it or not.”
Silence snaps tight between us.
Then she says quietly, “You’re trying to keep me alive by locking me down.”
“Yes.”
“And you think I’ll accept that.”
“I think,” I say, stepping closer, “that you understand consequences.”
She holds my gaze, unflinching. “I understand agency.”
That lands.
Harder than I expect.
I’ve spent most of my life dealing with people who needed to be restrained—for their own good, for the mission, for the math of survival.
Lark isn’t reckless.
She’s principled.
And principles don’t bend easily.
“I’m not your enemy,” I say.
“I know,” she replies. “But you’re not the one who gets to decide what I do with the truth.”
I study her for a long beat.
Then I nod.
“Fine,” I say. “Then here are the rules.”
She waits.
“You don’t move without telling me. You don’t communicate externally without approval. You don’t touch anything related to that data unless I’m in the room.”
“And if I break a rule?”
I meet her eyes. “Then I stop asking.”
Her breath catches—not fear, but understanding.
This is the line.
She inclines her head slightly. “That’s fair.”
It shouldn’t feel like respect.
It does.
I step back, creating space again before that realization goes anywhere dangerous.
“I’ll check perimeter,” I say.
She watches me head for the door, then speaks.
“Aaron.”
I pause.
“If they hadn’t come for me,” she says carefully, “would you have ever found this?”
I don’t answer right away.
Because the truth is sharp.
“No,” I say finally. “And that’s why they miscalculated.”
I leave before the moment stretches further.
Because if I stay—
I might start thinking about outcomes that don’t belong to the mission.