Chapter 5 - THE SAFEHOUSE
The escape from the Sterling Court was a blur of shadows, rain, and raw terror. Rowan had guided them through the labyrinth of the hotel's underground laundry facilities, neutralizing two more of Marcus's men with ruthless efficiency. Elara had proven remarkably composed under fire, retrieving Mia and following Rowan's every command.
Now, they sat in a dusty, dimly lit safehouse in the industrial outskirts of Providence. The rain lashed against the boarded-up windows. Mia was asleep on a dilapidated sofa, wrapped in Rowan's expensive wool coat.
Elara sat across from Rowan, nursing a cup of stale instant coffee. "Who are you?" she finally asked, looking at the man who commanded violence like a maestro conducting a symphony.
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"I'm a man whose friends forgot his birthday," Rowan replied dryly. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his legs, which throbbed with a dull, phantom ache. "And now, I am the man who is going to burn their city to the ground."
Over the next forty-eight hours, the safehouse became a war room. Vance arrived with secured laptops and burner phones. Rowan didn't need to walk to cripple Marcus's empire. He used his mind. He leaked shipping manifests to the FBI, froze secondary accounts Marcus didn't know about, and turned the local politicians against the new regime with well-placed blackmail. The Frost was orchestrating a blizzard from the shadows.
