My thumb hovered over the glass screen, the light casting a pale blue glow across my knuckles.

“Roman,” I whispered.

He was already moving, his hand slipping inside his jacket to grip the butt of his firearm.

“I see it,” he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble that barely carried across the dark room.

The video feed was clear, the resolution sharp enough to show the snow falling under the Zurich streetlights.

A man in a heavy coat stood by the rear door of the sedan, his face obscured by a dark cap.

He was looking directly at the security camera of the clinic where my mother lay.

“How did they get this feed?” I asked.

“They have people inside the security company,” Roman said.

He stepped closer to me, his shoulder brushing mine, his warmth a sharp contrast to the cold sweat on my skin.

“They want us to know they are there,” he added.

The door to the office creaked open.

I flinched, my grip tightening on the phone.

Elias Ward stood in the doorway, a heavy flashlight in his hand, its beam cutting a yellow swath through the darkness.