Page 180 of Dark Night of the Soul

I’d seen neighborhoods like this before. The ones where the people kept to themselves, where there were no block parties. Where there were formal dinner parties instead of backyard barbecues.

Ludwig made another turn, tires crunching over gravel instead of asphalt. He drove through two iron gates that were open and waiting, welcoming.

And I got my first glimpse of the new place.

Not a tiny apartment like Istanbul or Haidhausen. This was a sprawling villa. And I stared at its white-washed walls framed by tall hedges and stone walls. The kind that didn’t advertise what they protected. Perfect. We needed invisible. The kind that was nestled into this quiet world in which we absolutely did not belong.

Or we did. We belonged exactly here. Hiding in plain sight among the wealthy and unconcerned.

It didn’t look like a safe house. I suppose that was the point.

No neighbors. No prying eyes.

Space and silence. And enough room to disappear for a while.

I loved it instantly. Before I’d even stepped inside.

Ludwig came to a stop, put it in park. Then the two of them were out, opening the back doors. I grabbed the two duffels and hopped out, standing on the gravel drive and looking up at this monstrous residence that would house the four of us.

“Are we expecting company?” I asked, eyeing the number of windows on the front.

“You never know with us.” Ludwig flashed a wicked grin.

“Welcome to Harlaching,” Ulrich said lightly. “Lots of bedrooms. Courtyard. Park two blocks that way. Shops five minutes by car.”

“Let me off this thing,” Kincade said the second we were inside the door.

“No.” Ludwig ignored him as they continue to wheel him through the house.

The front door closed behind us with a solid, reassuring sound—thick wood, heavy hinges. Inside, the air was cool and faintly scented with stone and citrus cleaner, like the house had been waiting.

The entry opened into a wide hall with pale stone floors worn smooth by time, not neglect. High ceilings. Arched doorways. Light spilling in from somewhere deeper inside the house, warm and golden instead of harsh. It didn’t feel like a fortress.

It felt… lived in. Like someone had cared about this place. Like we could, too.

They wheeled him forward, and the house unfolded around us. Rooms branching off in quiet confidence, not ostentatious but generous. A sitting room to the left with low sofas, chairs, and shuttered windows thrown open to the early morning air. A long dining table to the right, scarred enough to suggest real use.

Beyond that, the courtyard.

I stopped to stare at it through a wide set of glass doors. My breath caught. This was... beautiful. Flagstones, a small fountain murmuring softly, vines climbing the walls. A fig tree in the corner. String lights already strung overhead, unlit but ready.

I hurried to catch up. He was still bitching.

“I can walk,” Kincade snapped.

“You did walk,” Ulrich said mildly. “Earlier. We are not repeating that.”

They kept moving.

I followed, duffels slung over my shoulders, absorbing it all. The way the house seemed to curve inward instead of sprawling, protective rather than exposed. Doors everywhere. Bedrooms, I assumed. Escape routes, probably. Windows that looked out onto a garden instead of a street.

“Ground floor bedroom,” Ludwig said, already steering the gurney toward a wide doorway at the back of the house. “Closest to the courtyard. Less stairs. More light.”

Closest to the courtyard. And excitement lit through me. He’d have light. Air. Space to heal.

“I don’t need—”

“No,” Ulrich and Ludwig said together.