[Jake's POV]
Aldridge Lodge sat two hours outside the city, buried at the end of a private road lined with black trees and old stone walls.
It was not a lodge in the comfortable sense. There were no warm windows, no charming smoke from the chimney, no lazy porch lights waiting for family to return. The house rose from the dark like a memory that had learned to hate being disturbed. Gray stone. Steep roof. Narrow windows. A place built by men who believed wealth should look cold enough to discourage questions.
Darius drove.
He had not asked if I was sure. That was one of the things I liked about him. Darius did not waste time arguing after a decision had already become a direction. He simply checked his weapon, checked the road, checked the mirrors, and made the silence feel less empty by occupying it properly.
Claire was not in the car.
That had taken effort.
