The convent slept beneath a heavy, unbroken silence.
There was no sound of the bells. No murmured prayers. Only the hush of leaves brushing against stone and the slow, patient breathing of a place that believed itself safe.
Ian watched from the treeline, crouched low, eyes sharp as he scanned the darkened structure. Every window was shut. No candlelight. No movement. He waited longer than necessary, counting breaths out of habit, and listening for anything out of place.
But there was nothing.
“She’s gotten good at hiding. Who would have thought she'd be in enemy territory?” he muttered under his breath.
His gaze drifted toward the rear of the convent, where the kitchen entrance lay half-concealed beneath ivy and shadow. There were no guards and patrols. No locks that would stop a man
