The night was unusually silent.Not the silence of peace — but of breath being held. A world reeling from the weight of revelation, unsure whether to grieve, rage, or rebuild.Van sat alone now.No screens. No headlines. Just a notebook, And a name.Moses Wilson.They had all thought Moses was just a footnote in Bianca’s saga. A crooked politician with a broken marriage and a buried past.But the files said otherwise.He wasn’t just complicit. He was engineered into the machine.While Barron pulled strings in shadows, Moses built the facade — legitimacy, funding, diplomacy. He made evil look respectable. Necessary. Patriotic.And worst of all?He survived.“Why didn’t we see it?” Dan whispered, scrolling through new data.“Because we were looking for a monster,” Rita answered. “And Moses knew how to smile like a savior.”They traced his last confirmed location to an old diplomatic outpost repurposed as a wellness center in Kigali.An underground fortress, hidden behind the mask of pea

The next morning, Van stood in the walk-in closet, frowning at a suitcase that somehow already looked overstuffed.“Are we moving to another country?” he asked, holding up a silk scarf with confusion.Ivy, sitting on the bed with her laptop, laughed. “That scarf is for the beach. Or a windy mountain top. Or just to look cute. Do you really want to be caught unprepared again?”Van held the scarf up like it had personally offended him. “I’ve survived armed raids and smear campaigns. I think I can handle a vacation without resorting to silk accessories.”“You say that now,” Ivy said, tapping away on her laptop. “But the moment we land and there’s a breeze, you’ll be begging me for it.”He rolled his eyes but gently folded the scarf and placed it back. The closet was cluttered with clothes they hadn’t touched in months — a visual map of everything they’d been through. Dust on tuxedos. Sand was still trapped in a pair of Ivy’s wedges from the day she had to run with the twins from armed me

Morning in the cottage followed its own rhythm. No alarms. No calendar alerts. Just the sound of birdsong, the crackle of firewood, and the occasional shriek of one twin tattling on the other.Van found himself waking before everyone else now, something that would have seemed impossible months ago. The man who used to sleep like he was guarding his own life had somehow started enjoying sunrises.This morning, he slipped out of bed quietly, pulling on a soft hoodie and stepping onto the porch with a mug of strong, bitter coffee. The lake stretched out in front of him like a silver coin. Mist still hugged the surface, and in the distance, a bird lifted into the sky with a slow, deliberate grace that made him stop and just… watch.He didn’t think about emails. He didn’t think about court dates or surveillance. He didn’t even think about Bianca.He just breathed.Inside, Ivy was still curled under the blankets, one arm slung over a pillow. She’d fallen asleep reading a book last night, an

It rained the next morning.Not a dramatic storm — just a gentle, steady drizzle that turned the trees into watercolor shadows and filled the air with the scent of damp earth and pine. The kind of rain that made you want to stay in, wear socks, and sip something warm.Van was in the middle of reading a storybook to the twins — something about a lost duck who joined a rock band — when there was a knock on the front door.He opened it to find Lila, standing there with an umbrella in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other.“Hey,” she said, slightly breathless. “I hope this isn’t weird.”Van blinked. “Um…”She held up the bag. “Your kids left this at the lemonade stand. A little stuffed bear with sunglasses? One of the older ladies found it in the grass. I figured I’d drop it off.”Van stepped aside automatically. “Come in. It’s wet.”Lila wiped her boots carefully and entered the cozy living room. Ivy looked up from her knitting, instantly recognizing her. She didn’t flinch. She jus

Thursday mornings in the village library had their own rhythm — soft footfalls on old pine floors, the smell of dust and paper, and the quiet hush that seemed to live in the walls. It wasn’t a large building — more like a converted stone cottage with ivy on the outside and creaky charm on the inside. But it had personality. And more importantly, it had a corner just for children.Ivy had dressed the twins in matching corduroy overalls — not on purpose, just because the weather was brisk and those were the warmest clean clothes. They each carried a small book from home in their hands, clutching them like offerings to the temple of story.Van stood at the gate as she took turns in adjusting their outfit before taking the walk down the lane. He didn’t join them — he had a call with Fred and the estate manager to go over some logistics — but he kissed them all goodbye, ruffled the twins’ hair, and whispered a promise of pancakes for lunch.The walk was short, about fifteen minutes, with t