Rora's POVThe Scottish estate was less a house and more a stone fortress emerging from the misty moors. It was stark, beautiful, and utterly isolated. The silence here was different, not the tense quiet of our city home under siege, but a deep, ancient hush. The only sounds were the wind moaning over the heather and the distant cry of a hawk.Inside, it was warm, furnished with heavy wood and thick wool rugs. A local couple, the MacLeods, acted as caretakers silent, capable, and asking no questions. For the first time in weeks, I slept without jumping at shadows.But the peace was an illusion, a temporary ceasefire. Ethan spent hours in the estate’s secure communications room, a high-tech cocoon within the ancient walls. He was coordinating with Mark, who was still in the city, hunting Anya Petrova.I focused on the baby. On the relentless, reassuring kicks and turns. I walked the rugged paths, Mrs. MacLeod a discreet shadow behind me, and tried to breathe the clean, cold air into
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