55. Clay
Clay
The safehouse outside Bucharest used to be an abandoned vineyard estate.
Now it looks like a military triage center.
Children asleep beneath borrowed blankets in upstairs bedrooms.
Armed guards rotating the perimeter.
Medical kits spread across antique dining tables beside half-empty coffee cups and rifles.
Nobody’s slept.
Nobody trusts the silence outside.
Not after the river.
Not after the tunnels.
Not after Wu.
Rain still taps softly against the old Romanian windows while dawn slowly bleeds gray across the countryside.
I stand alone on the rear balcony overlooking rows of soaked grapevines disappearing into morning fog.
Exhaustion finally catches up hard when the adrenaline fades.
My shoulder aches.
Body running on fumes.
But none of that compares to the weight sitting in my chest right now.
Hannah.
Her face on that river ladder.
The fear in her eyes when she asked if she’d become one of them.
Jesus Christ.
I grip the balcony rail harder.
Because the truth is—
I almost told her.
Right there in the freezing rain.
Almost told her I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.
Dangerous timing.
Worse situation.
But it’s there now.
No denying it anymore.
The balcony door creaks softly behind me.
I already know it’s her.
My body recognizes Hannah before my brain does now.
She steps outside wrapped in another oversized hoodie, damp hair loose around her shoulders.
Still pale.
Still exhausted.
Still somehow the strongest person here.
“You disappeared,” she says quietly.
I glance toward her.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Me either.”
No surprise there.
She steps beside me overlooking the fog-covered vineyard.
For a second neither of us speaks.
The quiet feels fragile.
Temporary.
Like the storm hasn’t actually passed yet.
Hannah wraps both hands around the mug she brought with her.
Tea this time.
Not coffee.
Smart.
Her overlap episodes worsened every time the stimulants hit her system too hard.
“You should be sleeping,” I murmur.
A tiny tired smile touches her mouth.
“You sound like Gabriel.”
That makes me snort softly.
“Terrifying comparison.”
The smile lingers a little longer this time.
God help me.
Even exhausted and traumatized, she still does this thing to my chest that feels genuinely unsafe.
Then the smile fades.
“You think Wu’s watching us?”
“Yeah.”
She nods slowly like she expected that answer.
“He won’t stop.”
“No.”
Silence again.
The fog thickens beyond the vineyard hills.
Then Hannah suddenly says quietly:
“I remember more.”
Every muscle in my body tightens instantly.
“What kind of more?”
Fear flickers briefly across her face.
“The kind I don’t think Wu wanted me to remember.”
That gets my attention.
Fast.
She looks down into the teacup.
“There was another level beneath the red room.”
Wonderful.
Absolutely wonderful.
“Black rooms.”
The name alone makes my stomach tighten.
“What happened there?”
Hannah swallows hard.
“I don’t know everything yet.”
A pause.
“But children disappeared into them and never came back out.”
Cold slides down my spine.
Not dead.
Worse somehow.
Conditioned?
Reprogrammed?
Weaponized?
Before I can ask another question—
the vineyard alarms suddenly explode.
Sirens scream across the estate.
Motion sensors.
Perimeter breach.
Hannah’s head jerks upward instantly.
And downstairs—
gunfire erupts.
“CONTACT EAST FENCE!”
I move automatically.
One hand shoving Hannah behind me while the other reaches for my weapon.
More shots explode outside.
Glass shatters somewhere downstairs.
Mason’s voice roars through the estate:
“GET THE CHILDREN MOVING!”
Not another assault.
Too fast.
Too organized.
Sentinel found us again.
I grab Hannah’s wrist and pull her toward the balcony doors—
then stop cold.
Because standing in the fog below the vineyard—
directly beneath the balcony—
are three men in black tactical gear.
Watching us.
Not shooting.
Waiting.
One of them slowly lifts a phone toward his ear.
Then smiles up at Hannah.
And says loudly in perfect English:
“Director Wu says if you come willingly…Vincent lives.”
Oh hell no.