Chapter 40 | Anna
I never thought leaving Istanbul would be difficult, but it was. The view of the sea from that balcony. The rickety café table where we’d sat like normal people for a few stolen hours. I’d miss them both.
But Munich was waiting. And this one felt different. Heavier. Like the air before a storm.
The midnight flight was quiet. Cabin lights low, giving everything an amber glow. I watched him across the aisle, that familiar watchful stillness. Last night felt both immediate and distant, like something that happened in a different life.
But his hand had been on mine this morning. And that was enough.
When we landed, I slung my duffel over my shoulder—everything I owned fit in one bag now—and followed him across the tarmac. Street lamps gave everything a shimmery glow.
Inside, fluorescent lights bleached the terminal the same sterile color. Tile, steel, tired faces drifting past. I was still in travel mode. Joints stiff. Mind fuzzy.
Kincade’s gaze never stopped moving. Exits. Doorways. Reflections in glass. Empty seating areas. Our footsteps echoed too loud in a space built for crowds.
We cleared customs without incident. No second glances. We were the ghosts.
He didn’t break stride heading for the exit as a man joined us. Keeping pace like he belonged there. Never looked my way.
My pulse kicked up. Every instinct screamed threat.
Then the stranger said softly, “This way.”
Kincade’s hand found my elbow. Steady pressure. When I met his gaze, something in it told me everything was fine.
I followed.
The stranger angled toward a side exit I hadn’t noticed—one of those corridors airports pretend don’t exist. The farther we got from the terminal, the quieter it became.
“You didn’t check luggage,” he said. “Good.”
German accent. Faint but there.
It had to be someone from the Quiet Watch. Had to be. One of Kincade’s men, pulling us into Munich’s shadows before anyone noticed we’d arrived.
And then I thought of my hair. White. Unmistakable. A walking billboard that screamed, “look at me!”
Yeah. That needed to change. Soon.
I shot Kincade a look. He watched the man’s back, expression unreadable. Whatever silent communication was happening between them didn’t include doubt.
Outside, the night air hit me, cold and sharp. The parking structure smelled like motor oil and petrichor, like it had recently rained. Somewhere in the distance, a plane taxied toward the runway.
The stranger led us to an older sedan. Unremarkable. Forgettable. He unlocked the doors with a remote and opened the rear passenger door, positioning himself so the door blocked the line of sight from the ramp.
Deliberate. Practiced.
I slid into the backseat. Kincade took the front passenger seat like this was the most natural thing in the world.
The stranger closed my door and rounded to the driver’s side.
I had many questions.
He started the car, pulled onto the road, and began weaving his way from the airport to the main highway.
“Any complications?” Kincade asked.
“None.”
They knew each other. Of course they did.
I watched unfamiliar streets blur past, trying to get my bearings. He hadn’t told me much. He hadn’t even told me we were being picked up from the airport. Hell, he may not have known until the man showed up.
It reminded me of my uncle. Need-to-know basis. Information doled out like rations.
Some things never changed.
As far as I could tell, we were heading south into residential areas. Quiet streets, German signs I couldn’t read, architecture I didn’t recognize. Then commercial districts, then something in between.
The stranger drove with the same methodical precision he’d used positioning that car door. Checking mirrors. Noting side streets. Every movement deliberate.
Kincade watched the road ahead, face unreadable in the passing streetlights.
And I sat in the back, being transported to a destination I didn’t know, for a mission I hadn’t been briefed on, in a city I’d never visited.
Trusting that wherever we were going, whatever came next, he had it handled.
Living the dream.
At least the stranger drove well. That was something.
“You were not followed,” the man said.
Well, that was reassuring.
Streetlights blurred past. A tram rattled somewhere to the left. And I realized my breathing had slowed to match the cadence of the car.
We turned down a narrow residential street with buildings pressed close and stacked balconies.
He parked the sedan in front of an older building, then cut the engine.
Kincade and the stranger popped open their doors at the same time.
Before I could move, the stranger came to my side and opened the door for me.
Chivalry wasn’t dead. It was armed and operating a getaway vehicle.
Curious, I glanced from him to Kincade. His expression was flat. Like he didn’t mind someone else leading the way. He wasn’t looking at me, anyway. He was scanning the street, eyeing the dark empty sidewalk. Doing that thing he always did when we entered a new place.
I found this strange dynamic fascinating. Kincade letting someone else lead. Someone else open doors. Someone else be in charge of the keys.
Either this guy was trusted, or I was about to learn something new about how the Quiet Watch operated.
Possibly both.
We followed the stranger up the sidewalk, through a doorway, and up a flight of stairs to the fourth floor. He unlocked a door, pushed it open, and waited. Kincade entered first, flipping on lights. I followed. The stranger came last, closing the door behind him, turning the lock.
The apartment didn’t pretend to be safe. It was in that sparse, functional way that screamed “tactical retreat” rather than “cozy getaway.”
Muted colors. Worn furniture. Lights that came up in stages instead of all at once, like someone wanted to see who was waiting before committing to full illumination. No personal touches, no softness—clean lines and deliberate emptiness.
A battered sofa. An armchair angled toward the window for sightlines. A scarred coffee table that looked like it’d been moved more than it’d been used.
Against one wall, a small dining table with four mismatched chairs, none of them tucked in, everything ready to shift at a moment’s notice. On the table sat a thick folder. Intel or plans for whatever we were walking into.
The kitchen was narrow and efficient, cupboards half-empty but orderly, supplies lined up with intention. Down the short hall, I caught glimpses of a bare bedroom and a bathroom that smelled faintly of bleach, towels folded tight, mirror angled to show the door before your own reflection.
The space felt scrubbed of history—functional, anonymous, prepared.
I breathed out, not because I was comfortable, but because I felt accounted for. And here, that was enough.
Also, there was whiskey on the counter. So the universe hadn’t completely abandoned me.
The stranger handed Kincade the keys. “You’ll be safe here.”
“Thanks, Ulrich.”
Ulrich. So, our mystery guest had a name.
I glanced between the two of them. There was a familiar easiness about them. One that suggested they’d known each other for a long time. Not centuries. Perhaps only decades.
Here, in the faint light of the apartment, I could get a good look at him. I doubted he looked like the fifty-something man I thought he was. He was likely much older. Immortal, too. Who could tell?
He was tall and lean with well-toned muscles along his upper arms, across his shoulders and chest. Like he visited the gym daily and alternated between cardio and strength conditioning.
His face was weathered. Handsome in an old-world way.
Striking blue eyes. And everything he wore was drab, unremarkable.
A man who could blend in wherever he went.
His gaze found mine and for a long, silent moment, we sized each other up. Like he was getting a good look at me, too.
I’d seen that look before. The careful assessment, the quiet calculation. Wondering if I was an asset or a liability. Wondering what Kincade saw in me that made me worth the risk.
Good questions. I was still figuring that out myself.
I said, “Well, this isn’t awkward at all. Do I pass inspection?”
His mouth twitched, the suggestion of a smile. “You’re Anna.”
“All my life,” I said. “And you are…?”
“Ulrich.” He reached for my hand, took it, held it. And weirdly, I thought he was going to kiss it, but he didn’t. “I’m afraid it’s not every day I meet someone like you.”
I glanced at Kincade, hoping for rescue. He stood there, passive as ever. Letting me handle this. Or testing how I’d handle it.
“Like me?” I tugged my hand free.
“I heard about the Ark. A lot of us did.”
I shifted, heat crawling up my spine. The Quiet Watch had been talking about me? An image of them gossiping came to mind. Comparing notes. Making assumptions.
“You mean the part where I nearly died and ruined everyone’s expectations of a peaceful existence?”
Silence.
Then Ulrich glanced at Kincade. A flick of his eyes.
“She’s funny,” he said.
“She has her moments,” Kincade said, amusement lighting his eyes.
Ulrich’s gaze returned to me. Measuring.
“She doesn’t look dangerous,” Ulrich said, still studying me.
“She is,” Kincade said.
I shot him a look. Quick agreement felt rude, even if it was technically accurate.
“Hey,” I said. “I’m standing right here.”
“I like her,” Ulrich said, ignoring me. “So will the others.”
A stamp of approval I hadn’t realized I needed. Like I was being inducted into a very old, very secret society.
Kincade met his gaze, something ancient and immovable settling behind his eyes.
“Good,” he said. He moved to stand between the two of us.
I had the strange certainty that Kincade wasn’t happy Ulrich had declared his like for me so openly.
And that delighted me.
“Well,” I said, forcing brightness into my voice, “this has all been… enlightening. But I’m exhausted and going to bed. Ulrich, it was nice to meet you.”
And before either of them could respond, I turned and headed for the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind me.