Chapter 4: Shadows of Istanbul
The bustling streets of Istanbul felt like a world apart from the suffocating silence of the château and the damp gloom of the safe house. Amelia gazed out the window of the cab, her eyes darting over the chaos of the city. Vendors called out to passersby in Turkish, the scent of grilled meats and freshly baked bread mingling with the sharp tang of car exhaust. The old and the new intertwined here—gleaming skyscrapers rising above ancient mosques, narrow cobblestone alleys winding through districts that seemed frozen in time.
But none of it felt safe.
Victor sat beside her, his shoulders rigid, one hand resting on the pistol hidden beneath his jacket. Elena and Finn were in a separate car behind them, a precaution they'd agreed upon in case anyone had followed their trail.
"We shouldn't trust him," Victor said, breaking the silence. His voice was low but firm.
Amelia sighed, her eyes still on the streets. "We've been over this. Finn has more intel on The Architect than any of us. We need him."
"And if he's leading us into a trap?" Victor's gaze bored into her, his suspicion palpable.
Amelia turned to him, her expression weary but resolute. "Then we deal with it. But right now, he's our best chance at staying one step ahead."
Victor didn't respond, but the tension between them lingered as the cab weaved through the crowded streets.
Finally, the driver pulled onto a quieter road, the chaotic energy of the city giving way to the stillness of the outskirts. The villa loomed ahead, hidden behind high stone walls and wrought-iron gates. From the outside, it looked abandoned—its paint peeling, windows clouded with grime—but Amelia knew better.
"This is it," she said softly as the car rolled to a stop.
Victor handed the driver a wad of cash, then stepped out, scanning their surroundings. The second car pulled up moments later, and Elena and Finn joined them on the sidewalk.
"Looks quiet," Elena said, though her hand hovered near her weapon.
"Too quiet," Victor muttered.
Finn approached the gate, his eyes narrowing as he inspected the lock. "It's been recently reinforced," he murmured, almost to himself. He pulled a small toolkit from his jacket and crouched down, working quickly.
Amelia kept her eyes on the villa, her stomach knotting with unease. The air felt heavy, as if the building itself was holding its breath.
With a soft click, the lock gave way. Finn pushed the gate open just enough for them to slip through, motioning for silence.
The garden was overgrown, weeds and vines creeping up the sides of the house. The faint chirping of crickets was the only sound as they moved toward the front door. Finn hesitated, his hand on the doorknob, then glanced back at the group.
"Be ready for anything," he said.
Victor rolled his eyes but drew his weapon, followed closely by Elena. Amelia's heart pounded as she gripped the journal in one hand and a flashlight in the other.
The door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit foyer. Dust hung in the air, illuminated by a single shaft of moonlight streaming through a crack in the curtains. The faint scent of decay lingered, and the floorboards groaned under their weight as they stepped inside.
"This place gives me the creeps," Elena muttered.
Finn ignored her, his focus on the staircase ahead. "The files we're looking for won't be on the ground floor. They'll be in the basement or a hidden room."
"How do you know?" Victor asked, his tone sharp.
Finn shot him a glance. "Because that's where I'd hide them."
They moved cautiously through the villa, their flashlights cutting through the darkness. Amelia's pulse quickened with each step, the oppressive silence amplifying her every breath.
In the study, they found a desk littered with papers—most of them mundane, but one caught Amelia's eye: a handwritten note in a language she didn't recognize.
"What is it?" Elena asked, peering over her shoulder.
Amelia shook her head. "I'm not sure. It doesn't match the cipher in the journal, but it could be important." She folded the paper and slipped it into her bag.
Suddenly, a faint noise echoed from upstairs—a soft thud, like a footstep.
The group froze.
"Did you hear that?" Amelia whispered.
Victor nodded, his grip tightening on his gun. "We're not alone."
Finn gestured for them to stay quiet as he moved toward the staircase. He climbed slowly, his footsteps silent on the creaking wood. The others followed, their hearts in their throats.
At the top of the stairs, the hallway stretched into darkness. A faint light glowed from beneath a door at the far end.
Finn motioned for them to stay back as he approached the door, his hand hovering over the handle. He turned it slowly and pushed the door open.
Inside was a small room, bare except for a single chair in the center. On the chair sat a man, his hands bound and his face bruised. He looked up as they entered, his eyes wide with fear.
"Help me," he croaked, his voice barely audible.
Amelia stepped forward, her shock giving way to urgency. "Who are you? What happened?"
The man shook his head, his gaze darting toward the door. "They're coming back," he whispered. "You have to leave. Now."
Before anyone could respond, the faint sound of footsteps echoed from below.
Finn cursed under his breath. "We've been set up."
Victor turned to Amelia, his expression grim. "Grab what you can. We're getting out of here."
As the footsteps grew louder, the group scrambled to retreat. But Amelia couldn't shake the feeling that they were running straight into a trap.