The air in Marrakech was warm and perfumed with spices, a sharp contrast to Paris's winter chill. Ethan and Vanessa stepped out of the black SUV into the chaos of the medina—vendors calling, children laughing, the distant thrum of drums.
Vanessa wore a wide-brimmed hat and oversized sunglasses, though she still drew stares. Ethan kept close, scanning the crowd like a man expecting trouble.
Their lead came from Henri's last whispered advice: "Find the Riad al-Sahara. She stayed there for months."
---
The riad's inner courtyard was quiet, with a central fountain that trickled softly. A man in a white tunic appeared, smiling politely.
"You seek Caroline?" he asked, voice low.
Vanessa froze. "Yes. And Elise."
The man's smile faded. "Elise is here. But she is not the woman you remember."
Before they could ask more, a shadow moved from the balcony above. A tall woman descended the stairs slowly, every step deliberate.
It was Elise. Her hair was shorter now, streaked with sun, her eyes sharper—harder.
"Vanessa," Elise said in perfect English, her voice like silk over glass. "You found me."
Vanessa stepped forward, emotion tightening her voice. "You were supposed to be dead."
Elise smiled faintly. "Better to be dead than to be hunted." She glanced at Ethan. "And you've brought company."
---
That night, in their suite, Ethan and Vanessa argued in whispers.
"She's hiding something," Ethan said, pacing. "And if Caroline was here with her—"
"I don't care," Vanessa cut in. "She's alive, Ethan. That's all that matters."
He took her face in his hands. "It matters if she's dangerous."
Outside, the call to prayer echoed through the city, long and haunting. Inside, their lips met with an urgency that was part desire, part fear—because in Marrakech, nothing stayed hidden for long.