The plane touched down with a jolt that pulled me from uneasy sleep. We were finally on some european soil. One step closer to safety.

We deplaned separately, just like we'd boarded. I watched from a distance as the others moved through customs with their fake passports. Each checkpoint passed without incident. The emotional manipulation in Camille's clothing continued to work its subtle magic—boring, ordinary, not worth remembering.

I went through last, my heart rate elevated despite Superior Endurance keeping my physical responses controlled. The customs officer barely glanced at my face before stamping the passport and waving me through. I found it genuinely crazy. I was the most wanted man on the planet right now, every individual alive, regardless of age, sex or rank was all looking for me. And despite all that, no one could notice me hiding in plain sight.

We met outside the airport, in a parking area away from the main terminals. It was the first time we'd been together openly since leaving the penthouse.

"Everyone okay?" Evelyn asked, her voice low.

Nods all around. Exhausted but functional.

"We made it to Europe," Sienna said, relief evident in her tone. "That's something."

"But we're not close enough yet," I said, pulling out my phone and opening a map. "Elliot's farm is east of here. I remember the train stop he got off at when we parted ways. Small town in Poland, near the border."

"How far?" Alexis asked.

"Two days by train," I estimated. "Maybe less if we're lucky with connections."

"Two more days of travel," Camille muttered, her exhaustion from using Job Maxer still evident. "Great."

We made our way to the train station, purchasing tickets separately but for the same route. This time we splurged slightly—got a private cabin. Six seats, door that closed, window to the corridor that we could cover.

Worth the extra cost for the privacy. For the ability to actually speak to each other without maintaining the fiction of being strangers.

The train pulled out of the station with a gentle lurch, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself relax slightly. Still vigilant. Still watching. But marginally less tense than on the plane. At least here, I was familiar in confronting people and I could hide myself better.

"How long do you think before they notice we're gone?" Sienna asked, settling into her seat near the window.

"They probably already know," Evelyn replied, pulling out her tablet. "Let me check."

She navigated to news sites, her expression growing grimmer as she scrolled.

"Yeah," she said finally. "It broke about six hours ago. 'Reynard Vale and Associates Missing.' 'Possible Escape or Kidnapping.' The usual speculation."

She turned the tablet so we could see. Multiple news outlets running variations of the same story. Photos of our building. Interviews with security staff. Speculation about where we might have gone.

"Kidnapping?" Camille said incredulously. "Who do they think kidnapped us? Rather who they even think is capable of kidnapping us?"

"Governments and groups of thousands of people are looking for us. They would easily be able to kidnap us. But that doesn't matter," Alexis said. "What matters is that they're looking now. Every airport, every border crossing, every major transit hub will be on alert."

"We're already through the hardest parts," I pointed out. "Airport security was the biggest risk. Train travel in Europe is easier—less scrutiny, more casual."

"Let's hope you're right," Evelyn said.

Two days passed in relative quiet. We took turns sleeping, eating the food we'd bought at train stations, watching the European countryside roll past outside our window.

Though Camille was mostly sleeping and eating trying to recover from using her job title. I always thought that she was exaggerating since she loves to sleep in during mornings, but after having used it, I realized that it really was that tiring. I mean I was feeling tired even with my Sustem active. I can't imagine how Camille is handling it.

News coverage continued to evolve. Analysis pieces about what our disappearance meant. Speculation about whether we were fleeing justice or being protected by allies. Mark was somehow giving interviews, looking concerned, saying he hoped we were safe and brought to justice as he continued to undermine everything we'd built. I don't understand how he escaped Ghana as he's somewhere in Asia from what I can tell. But it's not like Samuel can't stop his entire population. If they truly wanted to help Mark then there would be no stopping him.

Seventy-three percent now. His support had grown another three points.

I tried not to watch, but it was hard to look away. Like watching a car crash in slow motion.

Finally, the announcement came over the train's intercom. Our stop. Small town in eastern Poland, exactly where I remembered.

We gathered our minimal belongings and stepped off the train onto a platform that looked like it hadn't been updated in decades. Rural. Quiet. The kind of place where strangers were noticed but not immediately reported.

"Now we find the farm," I said, looking around at the unfamiliar town.

That proved more challenging than expected. The town was small enough that asking for directions was necessary, but risky enough that we couldn't all do it.

"I'll handle this," Alexis said. "I'm the least recognizable. And I speak some Polish."

I didn't even know she spoke Polish…though I guess I never had a reason to ask. She moved away from our group, approaching locals with careful questions. We watched from a distance, ready to intervene if anything went wrong.

The worst-case scenario played through my mind on repeat: someone with the Cain Protocol seeing through my disguise. The hood and glasses hid most of my face, but not all of it. Part of my features were still exposed. And I wasn't sure if Alexis's cure—which had successfully reversed the protocol in Evelyn—had been replicated perfectly by other countries attempting the same procedure.

If someone affected by the protocol saw me, they'd attack. Instantly. Uncontrollably. No amount of disguise would stop their brain from recognizing whatever unique signature my System carried the second that they see my face.

But nothing happened. People answered Alexis's questions without incident. Pointed in various directions. Gave conflicting information that she had to parse through.

After a couple of hours and multiple inquiries, she returned with a promising lead.

"There's a large family farm about five kilometers east of here," she said. "A really big family living together. They keep to themselves mostly, but they're known for taking in people who need help."

That sounded right. That sounded like Elliot's family.

We walked. Not ideal with our exhaustion and my still-healing injuries which were thankfully being blocked out by Pain Resistance, but safer than trying to hire a car and explaining why we needed to go to a specific remote farm.

The countryside was beautiful—rolling hills, autumn colors, that particular quiet that only exists far from cities. Under different circumstances, it might have been peaceful.

The farm appeared gradually. First just buildings in the distance, then details becoming clear as we approached. Large property. Multiple structures—main house, barn, smaller outbuildings. Fields that had been recently harvested. A few animals visible in pens.

Exactly the kind of place where five fugitives could disappear for a while.

We walked up the long driveway slowly, giving anyone inside time to notice our approach. Didn't want to surprise them. Didn't want to seem threatening.

I knocked on the front door of the main house.

Footsteps inside. Muffled voices. Then the door opened.

Elliot stood there, and for a moment I barely recognized him. He'd grown since we'd last met—not just physically but in bearing. More confident. More grounded. The kind of growth that came from finding purpose.

But his expression was guarded. Suspicious. He looked at the five strangers on his doorstep with the wariness of someone who'd learned not to trust easily.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice carrying that particular edge that said he was ready to defend his home if necessary. "What do you want?"

I understood his reaction completely. He couldn't see our faces clearly through the disguises. And in the news, Reynard Vale—a past associate of his—was being searched for, hunted, accused of terrible things. The last thing he'd want would be strangers showing up at his family farm, potentially bringing danger to people he cared about.

His stance was protective. Defensive. Ready to close the door if we gave him reason to.

I looked at the others, then back at Elliot. No way around this. We needed him to know who we were. Needed him to decide whether to help us or turn us away.

I reached up slowly, giving him time to see the movement wasn't threatening. Pulled back the hood that had hidden my face for days. Removed the glasses that had changed my features.

Let him see me. Really see me.

Recognition flashed in his eyes. Shock. Confusion. A dozen emotions crossing his face in the span of seconds.

"It's me," I said simply.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

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