Novel Safe Haven Novels & Stories

And now, with Ember sitting six feet away, wearing her reflection, I could feel it even more. I leaned in closer. "You don't have to hold her, either." "I already am," she whispered. I didn't complain. But I moved my hand anyway. Finger cradled around hers. She did not let go. And when she leaned her head against my shoulder, I let my gaze fall and breathed through her. For as long as I still could breathe. — Sophia The safehouse was hidden underground. Not some flashy bunker, some converted observatory. A crypt.

I have learned to read this and give it space. We drive for eleven minutes on the gravel road before the farmland opens up and I can see the sky properly, wide and dark and scattered with more stars than I have ever seen from inside a city, which is the only place I have ever lived. It is unexpectedly beautiful and I note this and set it aside because beauty is not the current priority. "Tell me about the safehouse," I say. Single building. Two acres of land. Off grid, no registered utilities, no address on any system I haven't personally controlled. Three of my people are already there." He pauses. "Nobody outside my inner circle knows it exists."

But beneath it, something deeper churned. He turned to her suddenly. “You don’t have to stay.” Elena stared at him. “What?” “You could walk away. We’ve brought Victor into the light. There’s still time for you to disappear before he retaliates.” She reached for his hand. “I’m not going anywhere.” “I need you safe.” “You need me with you,” she corrected. He looked at her for a long time—then nodded. The new safehouse was nestled in a dense forest clearing, hidden behind a wrought iron gate and layers of surveillance. The mansion itself was smaller than the Graves estate, but just as fortified.

Chapter 97 The safehouse was supposed to be temporary. Three days. Maybe four. Just long enough to regroup, patch Cassian together, and figure out how to stop Vale before she activated whatever nightmare she had stolen from the remaining divisions. Instead It felt dangerously domestic. Luca hated it. Mostly because he liked it. The safehouse sat deep within the foothills outside Milan, hidden between dense forest and abandoned vineyards. Far from the ruins of Division Seven. Far from the Program.

Ray felt it. They arrived at the Haven with a perfect timing. He was not sure if it was a good thing or bad but something was about to happen. Changes in the wind felt like a storm was coming. He created the Haven many years ago on his first trip on Earth, preparing the day that would come. And the day had come. There was a safety pin on the place that when there's a rise of power, or the power lines were shaking, he would know. The Haven was no longer the same except the purpose that it was created for.

"They're winning because we're playing their game. So we stop playing. We disappear. We let them scream into the void while we build our case in silence." "And my mom?" "Harper's working on it. She has people watching the facility, making sure your mom is safe." He takes my hand. "I know it's hard. I know you want to fight back. But sometimes the smartest move is to vanish." The safe house is small. A cabin in the woods two hours north of the city. No neighbors. No internet. No connection to the outside world. It should feel like freedom. Instead, it feels like exile.

Dad nodded and the shock subsided into something less dramatic, more determined, "Then we had better go somewhere safe. I will not leave my daughter again. Something just broke open in me, love, guilt, gratitude, all tumbling together, and I embraced him, murmuring, thank you, against his shoulder, and I could feel Mantovani stroking slow circles on my back, and the passion of us a promise which he would not violate, this too. We loaded into the SUVs, with Dad in the back seat with mom and Sanna and Conti in the front, organizing with the allies on the ground in New York, and Mantovani driving and his hand over mine over the console, fingers intertwined like he was going to make the world sp

“Step out? As in, outside? Is that safe?” “Relax. I just want to check on some things." He frowned, clearly not buying it. “You’re lying again.” “I’ll be back soon.” He crossed his arms, stubborn as ever. “Ethan...” I closed the distance between us, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead. “Trust me.” That seemed to disarm him enough for me to slip out before he argued again. Outside, the air was colder. The safehouse was built underground beneath a disguised warehouse in the middle of nowhere—one of several I’d designed years ago under a different name. The surface level was quiet, dust gathering on old crates that hid high-tech equipment.

The safe house was a nondescript brownstone in Brooklyn, tucked away on a quiet street where the neighbors minded their own business and the nuns who ran it asked no questions. We pulled up just as dawn cracked the horizon, the sky bleeding pink and orange like a fresh wound. The van's engine ticked as it cooled, and I could hear the girls in the back—whispers in languages I half-understood, sniffles muffled by exhaustion and relief. Twenty lives pulled from the brink, their chains still dangling from wrists like grim jewelry. Shane killed the headlights, his face shadowed but eyes sharp, scanning the street for tails.