It was safer-for now. Mason barely spoke the entire ride. His eyes flicked constantly to the door,

he more she replayed the timeline, the more something tugged at her. The

e Reed had given her. In the encrypted messages, she typ

came five m

locker code. Port

ian left something there, it means he's

ded. "Or he'

they had t

d like salt, ru

d through rows of shipping lockers. Some were open and empty. Others seal

ker

easily. The do

t cargo. It

e it-documents, flash drives, a burner phone, and a thick, le

, don't trust the name

ul

nds trembling. "He's alive.

e journal. There were maps.

ot

Mas

tal machines. S

s from just th

inside the

he photos with hollow eyes. Every page of that journal was a breadcrumb trail, each scribbled note more paranoid than the last. Julian had been on the run for years-hiding in South Africa, slipping through borders

f he ever finds this-know it wasn't a sickness. It was obedience. I refused. That's why I vanished." She looked up, heart hammering in her chest. "Mason, he didn't leave because he was scared. He left because he wouldn't play the role they scripted for him." Mason didn't reply. He sa

ral-managed, maintained, and manipulated. But for what purpose? Inheritance? Image? Control? And i

common search engines. What popped up chilled her. "The Signature Room" was a discreet private floor inside an exclusive luxury estate called the Harrow Wellness Pavilion. On the surface, it was a wellness resort for th

that name. Once-years ago-I overheard Elaine on the phone. She said, 'Julian tried to walk out of the Signature Room. And look where he ended up.'" That was it. The puzzle was tightening. Julian

The underground contact was either compromised... or silenced. "We're on our own now," she said. Mason nodded. "Then we finish what Julian started." But outside the window, parked across the s

d for fifteen minutes, turned through back alleys, and flagged a passing courier van, paying the driver double to take them two towns over

" the receptionist said, voice clipped. "Says his name is Bennett. From Harrow." Samantha's bloo

ark clothes, a flat expression, and a notebook tucked under his arm. He sat without asking. "My name is Matthew Benn

ed her eyes. "W

," he said, voice low. "And I th

of the Signature Room. Restricted floors. Medication logs. A list of names-powerful f

id. "You were supposed to forget who you

his jaw. "But I

n you'll need more than memo

to "leave everything familiar." His final words echoed in Samantha's mind long after