**POV: Serena**
I woke to chaos.
One moment I was finally drifting off, exhausted from hours of anxious wakefulness. The next, someone was pounding on my bedroom door and Ash's voice was cutting through the darkness.
"Serena! Wake up! We need to move, now!"
I was out of bed before conscious thought caught up, hand reaching for the knife I kept in my nightstand. Training overrode confusion. Threat. Unknown. Assess and respond.
"What's happening?" My voice was steady even as adrenaline spiked through my system.
"Get dressed. Thirty seconds." Ash's tone left no room for questions.
I yanked on jeans, pulled a sweatshirt over my sleep shirt, shoved my feet into boots. Grabbed my phone, my wallet, the small go-bag I kept packed out of habit that everyone thought was paranoia.
Paranoia looked pretty fucking smart right now.
Twenty-eight seconds.
I opened the door. Ash stood there, weapon drawn, face set in grim lines.
"What—"
"Later. Silas is on his way up. We're getting you out of here."
"Why? What happened?"
He handed me his phone.
The photo loaded. Me, in my bed, sleeping. Taken from the angle of my bedroom doorway. Taken tonight. While Ash was in my living room. While Riven's fancy new security system was supposedly monitoring every approach.
While I thought I was safe.
My hands didn't shake. My breathing stayed controlled. My scent remained locked down tight.
But inside, something cold and sharp was spreading through my chest.
They'd been here. While I was sleeping. While I had professional security in the next room.
They'd been here.
"How?" My voice came out flat.
"We don't know yet. Riven's reviewing all footage. Lucien's on his way. Right now, we get you somewhere secure while we figure out what the fuck happened." Ash moved to the door, checked the hallway through the peephole. "Silas is in the stairwell. We're going to walk you down, get you in his truck, and move you to a secondary location."
"Where?"
"Safe house. Silverthorne maintains several for exactly this scenario."
"I'm not going to a safe house."
Ash turned to look at me. "Serena—"
"I'm not running. That's what they want. To scare me into hiding, into giving up my life." I grabbed my jacket. "We secure the apartment, we find out how they got in, we close the vulnerability. We don't run."
"Someone was in your bedroom while you were sleeping. They bypassed every security measure we put in place. That's not a vulnerability, that's a catastrophic failure. And until we know how they did it, nowhere is safe."
He was right. I knew he was right.
I hated that he was right.
"How long until Silas gets here?"
"Two minutes."
"Then we have two minutes for you to convince me why running is better than fighting."
Ash holstered his weapon, moved closer. Not threatening, just intense. "Because fighting requires intelligence. Right now, we don't have it. We don't know how they got in, we don't know what they're capable of, we don't know if they're watching your building right now waiting to see what you do next."
"So we give them what they want? Watch me run scared?"
"We give them nothing. We remove you from the active threat zone while we gather intelligence. Then we come back with a plan, with resources, with enough information to actually neutralize the threat instead of just reacting to it."
The logic was sound. I wanted to argue anyway.
A knock. Three sharp raps.
Ash checked the peephole, opened the door.
Silas entered like a storm—controlled fury radiating from every movement. His eyes found mine immediately, scanned me head to toe, checking for injuries I didn't have.
"You're okay?" His voice was rough.
"Physically? Yes. Everything else?" I held up the phone with my photo. "Not so much."
Something dangerous flashed across his face. "Riven's been reviewing footage for the last twenty minutes. There's nothing. No entry, no movement, no indication anyone was in this apartment after we installed the security system."
"Then how—"
"We don't know. Which is why we're moving you. Now." He pulled out his own phone, showed me a map. "Safe house is forty minutes north. Isolated, secure, no public records tying it to Silverthorne or to you. We control all approaches, all communications. You stay there while we figure this out."
"For how long?"
"As long as it takes."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer I have right now." Silas met my eyes. "I know you don't want to hide. I know this feels like giving them control. But Serena, they were in your bedroom. While you were sleeping. While we were watching. That means they're better than we thought, more dangerous than we anticipated, and we need time to catch up."
I looked between Silas and Ash. Two experienced operators, both telling me the same thing. Both right about the tactical reality.
Both asking me to do the one thing I'd sworn I'd never do again.
Run.
My phone buzzed. Text from an unknown number.
*Don't leave. We have so much to discuss. I'll be back soon. I promise.*
The phone slipped from my hand.
Silas caught it, read the message. His jaw clenched so tight I heard teeth grinding.
"That's a direct threat. Whoever this is, they're monitoring your communications in real-time." He looked at Ash. "We move. Now."
"I need to pack—"
"No time. We buy what you need." Silas was already moving toward the door. "Ash, you're on point. I'll bring Serena. Riven, we're coming down—be ready for immediate extraction."
"Wait." I grabbed my laptop from the desk, shoved it in my go-bag. My external hard drives. The USB with encrypted files I couldn't lose. "Okay. Now I'm ready."
We moved fast. Ash went first, clearing the hallway with professional efficiency. Silas kept me between them, one hand hovering near the small of my back—not touching, but ready to guide or shield depending on threat.
The stairwell was empty. Our footsteps echoed in the concrete space. Seventeen floors down. Each landing a potential ambush point.
My tactical brain catalogued it all. Blind corners. Choke points. No easy escape if someone was waiting.
But we reached the parking garage without incident.
Riven stood next to Silas's truck, eyes scanning the shadows. He opened the back door without a word.
"Get in. Stay low."
I climbed in. Silas followed, positioning himself between me and the window. Ash took the front passenger seat. Riven got behind the wheel.
We were moving before I'd even buckled my seatbelt.
"Where's Lucien?" I asked.
"At the apartment. He's doing a physical sweep for any tech we missed. Cameras, microphones, anything that could explain how they got that photo." Silas pulled up surveillance feeds on his tablet. "We're treating your apartment as a compromised location until we prove otherwise."
"My whole life is in that apartment."
"Your life is right here. Everything else is just things."
Easy for him to say. Those things represented fifteen years of building independence, security, control over my own existence.
Now someone had violated that space. Again. Despite professional security. Despite military-grade surveillance systems. Despite everything we'd done to keep me safe.
They'd still gotten in.
"How did they send that text?" I asked, forcing my brain into analytical mode. "If they were monitoring my communications, they'd need access to my phone or my network."
"Riven's theory is they cloned your device. Intercepted communications between your phone and cell towers." Silas showed me a technical diagram I barely understood. "Requires sophisticated equipment and technical skill, but it's possible."
"So every text I send, every call I make—"
"They're potentially seeing it. Yes." His expression was grim. "Which means we go dark. New phones, encrypted communications only, assume all existing devices are compromised."
I looked at my phone sitting in the cupholder. My connection to Rita, to my manager, to my brother. To the outside world.
Compromised.
"What about my appearance tomorrow? The Morrison Show?"
"Cancelled."
"No."
Silas turned to look at me fully. "Someone was in your bedroom tonight while you were sleeping. They're monitoring your communications. They've breached security that should have been impenetrable. You are not going on live television tomorrow."
"Cancelling signals fear. Tells them they're winning."
"They are winning!" The words came out sharp. "That's the problem. We're behind them, reacting instead of acting, and every move they make puts you at greater risk. So yes, we cancel your public appearances. Yes, we put you somewhere secure. And yes, we do whatever it takes to keep you alive, even if you don't like it."
The truck fell silent except for the sound of the engine and tires on pavement.
"I'm not going dark," I said finally. "I'm not cancelling my life while we wait for them to escalate. That's exactly what they want—to isolate me, cut me off, make me dependent and afraid."
"You should be afraid," Silas said. "Fear keeps you alert, keeps you safe."
"I've been afraid for six months. It hasn't helped." I met his eyes. "What helps is fighting back. Taking control. Refusing to be a victim."
"There's a difference between refusing to be a victim and refusing to acknowledge when you're in danger."
"I acknowledge the danger. I just don't accept that hiding is the only response."
Riven spoke from the driver's seat. "The safe house has full communications capability. You can work remotely, do virtual appearances, maintain your career without physical exposure."
"Virtual appearances don't maintain my public presence. They don't satisfy my contract obligations. And they definitely signal to whoever's doing this that I'm scared enough to hide."
"Because you should be," Silas repeated.
We were going in circles.
I looked out the window. Seattle's lights were fading behind us, replaced by darker suburban sprawl. Moving away from my home, my life, everything familiar.
Running.
Just like I'd run from Sanctuary. Just like I'd run from every situation that felt too controlling, too dangerous, too much like losing myself.
Except this time, running was the smart choice. The tactically sound choice. The choice that gave us time to gather intelligence and formulate a real response.
This time, running wasn't surrender. It was strategy.
I hoped.
"How long?" I asked again. "How long until we have enough information to go back?"
"Forty-eight hours minimum," Silas said. "Riven needs time to audit every device, every system. Lucien needs to build a comprehensive threat profile. We need to understand what we're dealing with before we put you back in the field."
"Forty-eight hours. Then we reassess."
"Then we reassess," he agreed.
It wasn't a promise. It was a starting point for negotiation. But it was something.
The truck turned off the highway onto a narrow access road. Trees crowded close on both sides, no streetlights, no other vehicles. The kind of place where you could disappear and no one would know.
My heart rate spiked. Tactical awareness screamed that this was exactly how people got taken—isolated roads, unfamiliar locations, trust in the wrong people.
"Serena." Silas's voice cut through the rising panic. "Look at me."
I did.
"You're safe. This is standard operating procedure for protective details. Isolated location means controlled access. No neighbors means no witnesses if someone tries to approach. This is us protecting you, not trapping you."
"How do I know the difference?"
"Because I'm telling you." He held my gaze. "And because if we wanted to control you, we wouldn't have spent three days negotiating every security protocol. We'd have just locked you down and dealt with the consequences."
Logic. Facts. Tactical reality instead of fear response.
I forced my breathing to steady. "Okay. I'm okay."
"You're doing great. Better than most clients in this scenario."
"Most clients probably don't have PTSD from being kidnapped as children."
"No. They don't." His voice softened slightly. "Which is why I need you to trust me when I say this is temporary. We're not imprisoning you. We're giving ourselves space to catch up to the threat."
The truck slowed, turned onto an even narrower driveway. Ahead, I could make out a structure through the trees—single story, modern construction, lights on inside.
Riven pulled up to the front door. "I'll clear it first."
He exited, weapon drawn, and disappeared into the house.
"How long has Silverthorne owned this property?" I asked.
"Four years. We use it for exactly this scenario—high-value targets who need temporary secure housing." Ash twisted in his seat to look at me. "It's got everything you need. Multiple bedrooms, full kitchen, office space with encrypted internet. Riven's already stocked it with supplies."
"When?"
"This afternoon. After the flowers. Silas wanted a backup location ready in case things escalated."
So they'd been planning this. Preparing for exactly this scenario while I'd been insisting I wouldn't run.
"You knew this would happen," I said.
"We knew it was possible. The stalker's pattern suggested escalation. We prepared accordingly." Silas's expression was neutral. "That's what good security does. Plans for contingencies you hope you never need."
Riven emerged from the house. "Clear. No signs of tampering, all systems functional."
"All right." Silas opened his door. "Let's get you inside."
The house was nicer than I'd expected. Not luxurious, but comfortable. Clean lines, modern furniture, large windows that probably offered good sightlines during daylight. The kind of place designed for long-term occupancy, not just emergency shelter.
"Master bedroom's down the hall," Riven said. "Two additional bedrooms if you need space. Kitchen's stocked for a week. Office has secure communications equipment—I'll set up your laptop with VPN access."
"Who else will be here?" I asked.
"Rotating watch. Two operators on-site at all times, two off-site monitoring remotely." Silas set his gear bag down. "You're never alone, but you'll have privacy when you need it. We'll establish a schedule, make sure you know who's where and when."
Control through information. Predictability in an unpredictable situation.
I could work with that.
"I need to contact my manager. Let them know what's happening."
"We'll set up secure communications first. Everything goes through encrypted channels from now on." Riven was already pulling equipment from cases. "Give me twenty minutes."
I walked to the large windows overlooking what appeared to be several acres of wooded property. Dark now, but I could make out the tree line. Isolated. Secure.
Also completely cut off from everything familiar.
"I know this is hard." Silas had moved to stand beside me, careful to maintain distance. "You built your entire life around autonomy and control. Now we're asking you to give up both temporarily."
"You're not asking. You're requiring it as a condition of keeping me alive."
"Yes." He didn't apologize for it. "Because your life is more important than your comfort. Your survival is more important than your independence. And right now, those things are in conflict."
I looked at his reflection in the window. Saw the determination there, the absolute certainty that this was right.
Maybe it was.
"Forty-eight hours," I said. "Then we talk about next steps. About going back, resuming my life, finding a solution that doesn't involve hiding indefinitely."
"Forty-eight hours," he agreed.
My phone buzzed. I'd forgotten I still had it.
Another text from the unknown number.
Running won't help. I'll find you wherever you go. We're meant to be together. You'll see.
I handed the phone to Silas without looking at it.
"Add it to the evidence file."
He read the message. Something dangerous crossed his face—the same lethal focus I'd seen when he'd first learned about the intrusions.
"Riven, how fast can you trace this number?"
"Already running it. Burner phone, no GPS, likely destroyed immediately after sending. But I'm pulling tower data, might be able to narrow down general location."
"Do it. I want to know where this asshole is operating from."
Silas looked at me. "You should try to get some sleep. It's three AM, you've had a traumatic night, and tomorrow we start the real work of identifying and neutralizing this threat."
"I'm not sleeping."
"Serena—"
"I'm not sleeping in an unfamiliar location while someone who was just in my bedroom is sending me love letters. I'm not sleeping until I've checked every room, every window, every possible entry point myself. And I'm definitely not sleeping until I understand exactly what happened tonight."
He studied me for a long moment. "All right. Then we do a security walk-through together. You check everything you need to check. Then you try to rest, even if you don't sleep. Deal?"
"Deal."
We spent the next hour going through the safe house room by room. I checked locks, windows, sightlines. Confirmed exit routes, noted choke points, mapped the layout in my head.
Ash watched with something that might have been approval. "Most clients just accept our assessment."
"Most clients probably don't have trust issues from being kidnapped and conditioned by people who said they were helping."
"Fair point."
By the time I'd satisfied myself that the safe house was as secure as claimed, exhaustion was catching up. Not the comfortable tired that led to sleep, but the bone-deep weariness of sustained adrenaline with nowhere to go.
"Master bedroom's yours," Silas said. "Ash and I will be in the main room. You need anything, just call out."
I looked at the bedroom door. Solid wood, good lock, but also just another space I'd be sleeping in while strangers guarded the perimeter.
Just like Sanctuary.
No. Not like Sanctuary. These men weren't trying to break me. They were trying to protect me.
Big difference.
"Thank you," I said. "For getting me out. For having a plan. For not making me feel stupid for being scared."
"You're not stupid. You're surviving." Silas's expression softened slightly. "Get some rest. Tomorrow we start hunting whoever's doing this."
I went into the bedroom, closed the door, and for the first time in hours, let my scent control slip.
The exhaustion was immediate and overwhelming. My body's desperate relief at dropping the constant suppression, at finally being alone, at having permission to stop performing strength.
I sat on the edge of the bed and tried not to think about the photo. About someone standing in my bedroom doorway watching me sleep. About how vulnerable I'd been, how completely unaware.
About how they could have done anything.
The panic rose sharp and fast. I shoved it down, forced my breathing to steady, reminded myself I was safe now.
Except I wasn't safe. I was just temporarily out of reach.
And whoever was doing this? They weren't going to stop. They'd proven that tonight. They'd breached professional security to get close to me, to take their photo, to send their message.
They were escalating.
And I was running out of places to hide.
My phone buzzed one last time before Riven would confiscate it for analysis.
A final message.
Sweet dreams, Serena. I'll see you soon.
I threw the phone across the room and finally, finally, let myself cry.