Novels by ve899627

Lila awoke with the doors of the balcony open. The sun was slanting over the quilt, and was warm on her bare arm. Julian was on his feet, already leaning on the rail with a mug of coffee, and looking at the water as though it could tell him something.She walked away bare-footed, with her hair unkempt, in her yesterday shirt.Morning, she said, scratching her voice.He glanced over, small smile. "Coffee's fresh. Landlady brought a pot."Lila filled a cup, leaned over him. The water was smooth and near-transparent. A fishing boat sailed by, lethargic and slow."You sleep?" she asked."Some. You?""Better than I have in months." She sipped, and scowled at the hotness. Waiting still, however, to have the knock.Julian nodded. "Me too."They rested a minute in delighted silence, breathing the salt air.Lila broke it first. "So... what now? We can not live forever on bread and olives."Why not?" He raised an eye

Prague was playing out under a mantle of autumn fog, and its spires were thrust up through the haze like long-lost swords. The city was a maze of cobblestone and secrets, and history was clung to the archways and bridges. Lila came at sunset, when the Vltava River took up the fading light in its gold and dark waves.She had entered a small pension in the Old Town, with cash and a false name. The room was not very large, the walls were not very thick to hear the murmur of the tourists below. She placed the note left by Julian over the bed, in addition to a map which she had purchased at the station.Viktor Hale. The name did not mean anything to her right away, yet a quick look on a burner phone allowed seeing some bits of information: a reclusive financier, rumors of a connection with Eastern European oligarchs, a man who traded information and not money. The villa on the outskirts of which he was a sort of fortress, was his last known address.Lila looked at the screen, and her heart

The coast of the Adriatic was like an old unfulfilled endeavour, the water a dark indigo in the afternoon sun. Miravento was a village, fastened to the cliffs, its houses built of stone, and worn with time and salt, its streets too small to be overheard. Lila had selected it as it seemed the last place on the earth, silent, unassertive, miles away on the other side of the fires which had pursued her all the way around the globe.She was sitting on the terrace of a small cafe and a cup of untouched espresso was cooling on her. The newspaper report that she had a tablet shone dimly: "Anonymous Foundation Blows Whistle over International Corruption Cartel - Billions of dollars of illicit funds recovered. The bottom motto, "From ashes, truth," looked up at her like a ghost, which she could not shake.Since Geneva it was three months. Three months later Julian disappeared into the machine he claimed. There were no calls, no messages, no indications that there was still anything in the man

The coast of the Adriatic was like an old unfulfilled endeavour, the water a dark indigo in the afternoon sun. Miravento was a village, fastened to the cliffs, its houses built of stone, and worn with time and salt, its streets too small to be overheard. Lila had selected it as it seemed the last place on the earth, silent, unassertive, miles away on the other side of the fires which had pursued her all the way around the globe.She was sitting on the terrace of a small cafe and a cup of untouched espresso was cooling on her. The newspaper report that she had a tablet shone dimly: "Anonymous Foundation Blows Whistle over International Corruption Cartel - Billions of dollars of illicit funds recovered. The bottom motto, "From ashes, truth," looked up at her like a ghost, which she could not shake.Since Geneva it was three months. Three months later Julian disappeared into the machine he claimed. There were no calls, no messages, no indications that there was still anything in the man

The train rocked gently as it cut through the Swiss countryside, slicing between mountains and fog. Julian sat alone in the last car, his reflection in the glass faint and hollow. The morning light painted him in fragments half-shadow, half-man, like someone unfinished.Geneva waited beyond the hills, beautiful and cold, the kind of city that pretended to be innocent. Somewhere inside its steel veins, The Requiem Initiative lived Bellgrave’s last mutation, the one his mother hadn’t been able to destroy.He closed his eyes, Helena’s voice whispering from memory. “Truth doesn’t die, Julian. It just finds a new name.”He opened them again, watching the world blur by. “Then I’ll find this one,” he murmured, “and burn it too.”The city greeted him with quiet precision. Geneva was order disguised as grace mirrors and money, secrets that smiled in daylight. Julian walked the streets in a gray coat and dark gloves, blending into the calm like another ghos

The hotel by Lake Zurich smelled of new rain and disinfectant. The sky was pale gray, the kind of color that didn’t belong to any season. Julian sat by the window, shirt unbuttoned, his shoulder wrapped in gauze where the glass had cut him. The city outside moved like nothing had happenedtrams clanging, people laughing, the world unaware that something powerful had just been erased.Lila stirred on the bed behind him, the faint rustle of sheets the only sound. She’d barely spoken since the explosion. For hours, they’d just sat there, breathing the same air, trying not to think about what came next.“Did anyone see us leave?” she asked quietly.Julian shook his head. “No one saw anything. The fire took care of it.”She sat up, her hair tumbling over her face. “And the files?”He glanced at the envelope on the table half burned, sealed with tape. “What’s left of them.