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“That’s where it gets interesting.” Eli’s image shrank further as banking data populated the screen. “I did some digging through Korolov’s bank accounts. Significant transfers to numbered accounts in the Cayman Islands. Account holder is masked through multiple shells, but the timing...”

“Aligns with Eldridge’s meetings with Korolov,” Leo finished.

“Exactly. Matches the data you gave me from Brock.” Eli highlighted a transaction. “Some funds pass through Geneva. There’s this outfit—Arken Institute. Could be a holding company, maybe research.”

“Arken.” Kat blew out a soft breath. “Gage found that name when he was digging on Eldridge.”

“What kind of research?” Leo rubbed a tender spot on his temple.

“Don’t know. Their digital infrastructure’s tight. Overkill, if you ask me.”

“We need to check the Royal London.” Kat turned to Leo. “Whatever they’re planning?—”

“I’m sending everything now.” Eli’s voice had lost all its earlier satisfaction, replaced by grim urgency. “Floor plans, security protocols, everything I could find on the Royal London facility.”

Fox leaned in one last time, expression hard. “Hate to say it, Leo, but whatever’s happening there—the clock’s ticking. Seventy-two hours is nothing.”

30

Kat staredout the window as Leo brought the Jaguar to a halt across from the Royal London Hospital. He’d arranged for one of Brock’s men to collect it and return Jane’s scooter.

The building sprawled before them, its Georgian front flanked by newer wings.

“I’ve been here twice before for witness interviews.”

The first time had been in a Victorian ward that still smelled of antiseptic, the second in the modern trauma unit built on top of the original foundations, where glass and steel had replaced worn brick.

The building was saturated with history, and she was grateful for the neutral topic of conversation. “Lower levels were used to store bodies before refrigeration, then converted to air-raid shelters during the war. They were sealed off in the eighties. Asbestos.” She unclipped her seatbelt. “I didn’t believe the asbestos story then, and I believe it even less now.”

She turned to Leo. His hands rested on the steering wheel, long fingers drumming a quiet rhythm. The late morning light caught the unshaven shadow along his jaw as his eyes tracked movement on the street.

What was this between them? Over the last few days, she’d woken in his home, worn his clothes, trusted him with her life without question.

When was the last time she’d trusted anyone without calculating the risk?

Never.

“Kat?” His voice pulled her back.

“Yes?”

“You okay?” His hand found hers across the console, thumb tracing her palm.

Heat crawled up her arm. Stupid to let such a simple gesture affect her.

If she stayed in this car another minute, she’d turn toward him. Slide her hand to the back of his neck, where his hair looked soft enough to ruin her.

“Perfect.” She opened the door.

The earlier sun kept hiding behind clouds. The rain had stopped, though the scent of it clung to everything. She breathed deeply to clear her head of Leo, and pulled her baseball hat low over her face.

His door closed. “Access points?” His voice was gruff.

“The old morgue levels. I remember a maintenance worker mentioning they connect to the Civil Defense tunnels that run under this part of the city.”

She finally looked at him.Mistake. His eyes sent a spear of heat through her.

She cleared her throat, dug her hands into her coat pockets. “Service entrances are on the north side. Probably alarmed, but I have solutions.”