The small village in northern Scotland was the kind of place the world forgot gray skies, colder wind, and only one road in or out. It was the perfect place to disappear.
Isabella adjusted her scarf as she stepped off the train, the chill biting through the layers of her coat. Alexander followed behind her, his sharp eyes scanning the quiet station, alert to every passerby.
"Are you sure he's here?" he asked.
"No," she replied. "But if Elias Blackthorn wanted to hide from the Circle, he'd pick a place like this off-grid, quiet, and defensible."
They walked through the fog-draped streets until they reached an old cottage at the edge of the woods. It was weathered, abandoned at a glance but the second Isabella knocked on the door, something shifted.
The silence cracked.
A voice from behind them: "You're either very brave or very stupid."
They turned. A tall man stepped out from the trees, silver-streaked hair, eyes sharp as glass. A rifle slung across his back.
Elias Blackthorn.
"I'm guessing you're here about the Circle," he said dryly. "And if you brought them to my doorstep, we're all already dead."
The Truth Buried Beneath
Inside the cabin, the air was heavy with the scent of old wood, fire smoke, and secrets.
Elias poured a single cup of coffee and didn't offer to share. "I've been out of the game for five years. Walked away. Faked my death. You don't do that unless you've seen something that changes everything."
Alexander folded his arms. "And yet here we are. Mercer's dead. The Circle's awake. We need to know who's pulling the strings now."
Elias stared at them both. Then slowly, he reached into a hidden drawer and pulled out a weathered leather file.
He dropped it on the table.
"Codename: Lazarus. The one king the Circle fears and the monster they created."
Isabella opened the file. Inside were grainy surveillance photos, financial trails, and at the center… a single face.
Her breath caught.
Alexander leaned in. "Who is he?"
Elias looked grim. "He was their greatest weapon. Now, he's off the leash."