The air in the Kreuzberg warehouse was thick with the metallic scent of old machinery and the faint, sweet smell of Sloane's clove cigarettes. Ren lay on a moth-eaten mattress in the back room, staring at the shadows dancing on the ceiling. Every creak of the floorboards sounded like a footstep; every distant siren sounded like his father's voice.
Beside him, Jace was out cold, his breathing heavy and uneven. Even in sleep, his brow was furrowed, his fingers twitching as if he were still hitting the drum pads.
Ren couldn't sleep. The silence was too loud.
He sat up quietly, careful not to wake Jace, and crept toward the heavy curtain that separated their room from the main floor. He just wanted a glass of water, but he stopped when he heard voices echoing from below.
"It's not just about the money, Sloane," a man's voice hissed. It was low, rough—someone Ren hadn't met yet. "Six figures. Do you have any idea what that would do for the squat? We could buy the whole block. We could get real security, real equipment. We wouldn't have to hide anymore."
"I know what the money looks like, Marek," Sloane's voice snapped back. She sounded tired, the usual sharpness replaced by a jagged edge of stress. "I can count zeroes just as well as you."
"Then why are we protecting them?" Marek pressed. "Jace is a brother, sure. but the kid? The kid is a walking target. Every minute he's under this roof, he's putting a bullseye on all of us. If the police come, they won't just take him. They'll shut us down. They'll put us all in the system."
Ren held his breath, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
"Jace saved my life in London," Sloane said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I owe him."
"And how many lives are you willing to trade for that debt?" Marek countered. "The bounty isn't just for 'finding' him anymore. It's for 'information leading to.' We don't even have to turn him over. We just send an anonymous tip to the Laurent legal team. They come, they take their prize, and we get the payout. Jace doesn't even have to know it was us."
Silence stretched between them, long and suffocating. Ren waited for Sloane to scream, to tell Marek to get out, to defend them.
But she didn't.
"Give me until morning," Sloane finally said. "If I can't find a way to get them to the coast without involving the main channels, then... we'll talk about the tip."
Ren backed away from the curtain, his legs feeling like lead. His sanctuary wasn't a sanctuary at all. It was a marketplace, and he was the only thing for sale.
He scrambled back to the mattress and shook Jace's shoulder. "Jace," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Jace, wake up."
Jace bolted upright, his eyes instantly wide and alert. "What? What is it? Are they here?"
"We have to leave," Ren said, the tears finally starting to sting his eyes. "Now. Sloane... she's talking to Marek. They're talking about the bounty, Jace. They're talking about the 'tip'."
Jace's face went pale, a flash of pure, agonizing betrayal crossing his features. "Sloane? No. She wouldn't. She's family."
"Family has a price, Jace!" Ren hissed, grabbing Jace's hand. "Six figures. Marek wants the money, and Sloane... she didn't say no. She said 'wait until morning'."
Jace stood up, his jaw setting into a hard, grim line. He didn't look like a boy anymore; he looked like a soldier realizing the ground beneath him was made of glass. He grabbed his backpack and the drum pads, throwing them over his shoulder with a violent motion.
"Grab your coat," Jace commanded. "We're going out the freight elevator."
"But the SUVs—"
"I'd rather take my chances with the sharks in the street than the snakes in this house," Jace said.
They crept out of the room, moving like shadows through the darkened warehouse. They reached the back elevator—a rusted, open-air platform that looked like it hadn't been inspected in decades. Jace pulled the lever, and the machine groaned, beginning its slow, screeching descent.
As they reached the ground floor, a door opened at the far end of the alley. A figure stepped out into the blue light of the moon.
It was Sloane.
She stood there, a cigarette dangling from her lips, looking at them. She didn't shout. She didn't call for Marek. She just watched as Jace led Ren toward the mouth of the alley.
"Jace!" she called out, her voice cracking the silence.
Jace stopped but didn't turn around.
"Don't go to the harbor," Sloane said, her voice void of emotion. "The police are already watching the freighters. Go to the train yard in Pankow. Look for a container with a red 'X'. It's moving at 3:00 AM."
Jace stood still for a long moment, then nodded once. He didn't say thank you. He didn't say goodbye. He just pulled Ren into the darkness of the Berlin night, leaving the "Sanctuary" behind forever.
The price of silence had been paid, but the cost of the escape was just beginning.