I read the text three times before I even knew what to do with my thumbs.
“Who’s Mira Albrecht?” I said, turning the phone toward Damjan.
He went still.
Not the casual kind…his shoulders locked, his hands stopped mid-motion, and he looked at me like I’d just said a word in a language he’d been trying to forget.
“I don’t— ” He stopped.
Started again.
“I haven’t heard that name in years.” “That’s not an answer.” “She used to run security for my father’s pack.
Before…” “Before what?” “Before…” He didn’t say more, and I’d learned by now not to push on that word standing in a car park with a hundred other things already on fire.
“Okay.
Well.
She says she knows why Gregor’s cars have been circling.
And she wants to tell you in person.” I looked at the message again, like it might’ve changed.
“Tonight, apparently.
Same night as my mum.” “No.” Flat and Immediate.
“Damjan—” “No, Nico.
Not— not tonight.
Tonight is for your mother, and tomorrow is the ceremony, and I am not spending either of those things chasing a woman I have not spoken to in years because she decided today was the day to resurface.” “Okay, but— what if it’s actually useful?
What if she knows something that changes what we’re walking into tomorrow?” “Then it will still be useful next week.” “Will it, though?
‘Cause the whole reason we’re doing this tomorrow instead of Saturday is ’cause things are moving fast, and you’re telling me to just— what, sit on information that might tell us why?” “I am telling you tonight belongs to your mother.” “And I’m telling you I don’t love the idea of walking into tomorrow blind when there’s a woman out there who apparently isn’t.” “Nico—” “I’m not saying we go tonight.
I’m saying don’t just delete her number and pretend she never texted.” He didn’t answer right away.
His jaw worked, nothing coming out.
I knew that silence.
Part of him agreed with me, and the rest wasn’t ready to say it.
I was about to push again when Henrik’s voice cut across the car park.
“Both of— both of you.
Now, please.” Henrik was already moving by the time we reached him, phone pressed to his ear, his other hand making impatient circles in the air…hurry up, hurry up, like he could will the voice on the other end to shut up.
“—understood, yes, I understood the first time, just get someone on the east—” He clocked us and held up one finger.
“I have to go.” He hung up without waiting for a reply.
“What,” Damjan said.
“There’s a car at the front gate.” Henrik’s voice stayed level…too level, each word clipped and precise like he was reading off a script for a disaster he’d hoped would never come.
It made everything worse.
“Registered to Eisenwald.
Not one of the ones we’ve flagged before.” “Send them away,” Damjan said.
“I would, except the— the driver’s already stepped out, and he’s asking for you by name.” Henrik looked at me, then back at Damjan.
“Both of you, actually.” A cold weight dropped through my chest, and I said, “Asking how?” “Politely.” Henrik started walking.
“Which is somehow worse.” “Do we know who it is?” I asked, jogging to keep pace.
“Not yet.
Nobody’s got a clear look.” “Could it be Gregor himself?” “It could be anyone, Nico, that’s the problem.” Henrik didn’t slow down.
“We’ll know in about 40 seconds.” We came round the last bend in the drive and I saw him before Henrik even finished his sentence.
My stomach dropped…that sick lurch of recognition, the face from a photo I’d stared at too long, studied harder than I’d meant to, and now it was here, breathing, watching us back.
Ash-blond hair, deliberately styled even at a gate at 8 in the morning.
Pale eyes, the exact photogenic blue that probably knew it.
He leaned against the car, arms crossed, stupidly good-looking, and I just stood there staring like an idiot, brain still trying to catch up with my eyes.
“That’s him,” I said, quiet, mostly to myself.
“That’s actually him.” “Nico.
Stay— stay behind me.” “I’m not gonna—” “Nico.” “I’m not hiding behind you at our own front gate, Damjan, that’s not—” I stopped, ’cause we were close enough now that the man at the gate had straightened up, and honestly, I couldn’t have told you what was on his face if you’d asked me.
Not hostile, I don’t think.
Not friendly either, not really.
He was just…
cataloguing, I guess.
Taking notes in his head, and I got this weird feeling he’d already read the file on us and was just confirming the details.
I’m probably making it sound worse than it was, but at the time it made my skin crawl, the way his eyes moved from me to Damjan and back again without blinking much.
“Damjan.” His voice carried easy across the last of the distance, warm, but calculated, like warmth he’d practiced.
“It’s been a while.” “Leander.” Damjan’s voice had gone flat.
I’d heard that register before…it was the one he used when he was holding something back, working very hard not to let it slip.
“You’re not welcome here.” “I’m aware.” Leander’s eyes moved to me, and I felt it, honestly…
this weird pressure behind my ribs, heavy and unwanted, like my body had already decided it didn’t like him, and my brain hadn’t caught up to the decision yet.
“You must be Nico.” “Must be,” I said, ’cause apparently that was the best my brain could manage.
“I’ve heard a lot about you.” A small smile, sort of…
half-formed, I guess, and it stopped somewhere short of his eyes.
“None of it from anyone who actually knows you, unfortunately.
My father’s sources are limited in their imagination.” “And your sources are better?” I said, before I could stop myself.
“My sources are curious.” He tilted his head slightly.
“There’s a difference.” “Is there?” “There is.
Curiosity looks for the truth.
My father’s people just look for a weapon.” Henrik stepped forward, planted himself right between us and the gate, and honestly, subtle was not the word for it.
“You need to leave, Leander.
Whatever this is, it isn’t—” “I’m here ’cause I— I heard the ceremony’s been moved.
Tomorrow, is it?” The whole car park went quiet, heavy enough to feel.
“How,” Damjan said, “would you know that?” “Word travels.” “That’s— that’s not an answer either.” “No,” Leander agreed, “it isn’t.” His smile didn’t move, but his eyes changed…
sharpened, maybe, or just stopped pretending.
“Faster than you’d like, apparently.” “You need to leave,” Henrik said again, harder this time.
“I will.” Leander pushed off the car, unhurried, and for a second his eyes found mine again, held there a beat longer than felt comfortable.
“Congratulations, by the way.
I mean that.” “That’s a strange thing to say,” I said, “for someone who apparently wants it not to happen.” His expression flickered…
I don’t know, it was there and gone so fast I couldn’t have told you what it was even if you’d asked.
“I never said that.” “You didn’t have to.” He looked at me for a long moment, and I felt Damjan go tense beside me, his whole body coiled up tight, waiting on a threat he could feel but couldn’t see.
Then Leander smiled again…
smaller this time, almost sad, and I got this weird sense that whatever had just happened between us had cost him more than I’d noticed.
“You’re sharper than they told me,” he said.
“That’s going to make this more interesting.” “Make what more interesting?” Damjan’s voice dropped into a register I’d never heard before…
low, tight, and the hair on my arms stood up before my brain even registered why.
Leander didn’t answer.
He got back in the car, completely unhurried, like he’d already said whatever he came to say and the rest of us just hadn’t figured it out yet.
The driver pulled away before Henrik could even finish whatever warning he’d been building up to…
probably for the best, honestly.
We stood there in the settling quiet, the three of us, watching the car disappear down the road.
“That— that is the first time he’s ever come here himself.” “What does that mean?” I said.
“It— it means his father sent him to look,” Damjan said quietly, still watching the empty road like the car might come back.
“And now he’s seen enough to know what he’s dealing with.” “Seen what, though?
We didn’t tell him anything.” “You didn’t have to, Nico.
He watched how I stood next to you.
He watched how you talked back to him without flinching.
That’s information too.” “So what, I should’ve just stood there and said nothing?” “No.
I am not saying that.” Damjan’s jaw tightened.
“I am saying he came here to measure us, and he left with a measurement.” “Great.
Cool.
Love that.” Henrik was already pulling his phone back out, thumb moving fast.
“I need to update security.
Every gate, doubled, starting now, and I want eyes on that road for the rest of the day.” “Do you think he’ll come back?” I asked.
“Not— not today,” Henrik said.
“Today was reconnaissance.
Whatever comes next won’t look like this.” My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled it out, expecting Mira again, expecting anything except the message actually waiting there: a photo, timestamped seconds ago, of the three of us standing at the gate, taken from close enough that I hadn’t even noticed, a vantage point I should have noticed, one none of Henrik’s 40 security people had noticed either.
Underneath it, 4 words.
We are still watching.