12
UN Safe House, Berlin
The safe house occupied the third floor of abandoned factory space. The floors, walls and ceilings stripped to their concrete and steel essentials. The entire place was a minimalist’s dream, with giant latticed windows, hanging fluorescent lights and an echo for every word spoken.
Like the others, Driver was seated at the table staring at an open laptop. She ran a finger over a deep, smooth groove in the wood, while Necromancer sat off to one side, bound to a chair by ties instead of tape.
Not that the woman was going anywhere. The only thing that dared move being her eyeballs.
On the other end of a video call, Gilmore wrapped a fist around a mug of coffee, flanked by Mo and Anna.
‘I thought that would be it,’ Driver mumbled, refreshing the breaking news feed
