[Jake's POV]
Sleep lasted four hours.
That was apparently progress.
Nia called it a miracle, Claire called it barely acceptable, and Darius checked my face when I entered the operations room like he expected to see steam coming out of my ears. I ignored all three of them and focused on the wall screen, where Van der Meer had become less of a building and more of a living threat.
The estate sat outside the city, old Dutch stone and high windows, surrounded by winter gardens arranged with the kind of symmetry that made violence feel inevitable. The public auction would happen in the east gallery. The Ash Room would meet upstairs in the music salon. The restoration archive sat in the west wing, climate controlled, discreetly locked, and far too perfect for holding something powerful people wanted to classify before moving.
Sofia might be there.
Or she might have already been moved again.
That possibility followed me through every briefing like a hand at the back of my neck.
