Geneva spread out below us as we descended, the city lights creating a constellation against the dark Swiss landscape. Neutral ground. Historic ground. And soon, potentially, a battlefield.
The plane landed at a private airfield secured by Valeska's people. We disembarked into a convoy of vehicles that took us to a safe house—nothing fancy, just a secure location where we could wait and coordinate.
Because we couldn't move yet. Not without knowing exactly where Mark was, what his security looked like, how vulnerable he might be.
Making ourselves public before we were ready would give him time to fortify. To disappear. To turn this into a prolonged hunt that would benefit him more than us.
So we waited.
