Franz woke up before the estate came to life.
The sky outside the courtyard glass was pale but not yet bright, caught between night and morning. The lamps around the area cast steady circles of light on the stone and gravel, their reflection weak against the inside windows.
The sitting room looked as it had the night before—files arranged on the coffee table, a folded blanket over the arm of the sofa, a glass of water untouched near the edge.
He stood by the window without turning on the lights. The quiet felt ordinary.
When he moved, he walked at the pace he used on set while waiting for cameras. He unlocked his phone and called Daryll right away.
"There's a freelance image," he said as soon as the line connected. "It was taken outside the secured area."
Daryll understood what it meant right away. The tone on the other end sharpened.
"It hasn't been published," Franz said. "It won't be."
He listened, looking at the dark shape of the garden outside the glass.
