Chapter 193 Ghost House

• They left the safehouse like a blade leaving a sheath.
• No headlights on the last mile. No phones. No chatter that wasn’t necessary. Knox drove, Bishop fed him angles in a low murmur, Decker checked gear with the quiet care he’d learned in places that didn’t have names.
• The chateau sat black in the hills, old stone and new money stitched together by cypress and wire. It should’ve been loud with lights. It breathed instead. Slow. Confident. As if certain nothing could get in that it didn’t invite.