After midnight, Surrey became an ocean of mist and silence, broken only by the distant cry of barn owls. The St. Jude Clinic, its windows illuminated by a cold, clinical light, loomed over the hill like a cursed lighthouse—one that, instead of guiding sailors, lured them in to imprison them.
Oliver was huddled among the gnarled roots of an ancient oak tree that grazed the estate's outer perimeter. His stolen coat was damp with dew, but he felt no cold. He felt only the beating of Azzurra's heart, a dull thrum reverberating through the burns on his arms. Since Belinda had left for Sicily, Oliver had ceased to be a boy. He had become a predator, a silent guardian who had not slept for forty-eight hours.
"Are you ready?"
Maya's voice came as a metallic whisper through the earpiece they had bought at a pawn shop in Richmond. She had managed to infiltrate the night shift of the external cleaning crew, wearing an oversized jumpsuit and hiding her blonde hair under a grimy wool cap.
"I'm in position," Oliver replied. "Did you deactivate the sensors in Sector B?"
"It's not as easy as in the movies, Oliver. I didn't deactivate them; I just sent them into a loop. We have a six-minute window before the central server realizes the camera feed in the east corridor is frozen on a frame from two minutes ago. Move—the service gate behind the kitchens is ajar. I jammed a stone between the frame and the lock."
Oliver took off. Despite the stiffness in his back, he moved with the brutal grace that only a dancer who has performed the Draunara could possess. He scaled the fence in a single, silent leap, landing on the soft grass of the inner garden. St. Jude was a labyrinth of glass and security, but Oliver had no need for a map. He followed the trail of cold that led him toward Azzurra.
He entered through the kitchens, where the scent of disinfectant mingled with the stale odor of reheated food. Maya was waiting for him behind a row of steel carts, her eyes dilated with adrenaline.
"They increased Azzurra's dose of sedatives tonight," Maya whispered, handing him a magnetic badge she had swiped from a distracted nurse. "Erica was here until an hour ago. She gave orders to keep her in total isolation. They say it's for her safety, but it's just a way to extinguish her. If we don't get her out tonight, they'll transfer her to a permanent facility in Switzerland tomorrow morning. I saw the papers on the head nurse's desk."
Oliver felt a growl rise from his chest. "Switzerland? They aren't taking her anywhere."
They climbed the service stairs, Oliver's heart accelerating with every step. They reached the third floor, the "intensive observation" ward. Here, the silence was absolute, broken only by the hum of monitors. Maya stayed behind to keep watch by the elevator while Oliver slipped toward Room 302.
He swiped the badge. The click of the electronic lock echoed through the corridor like a gunshot.
Inside, the room was bathed in a dim, bluish light. Azzurra lay on the bed, her arms abandoned at her sides. She was not restrained, but her posture conveyed an exhaustion that hurt just to look at. Her dark hair was scattered across the white pillow, and the scratch on her neck appeared like an ink wound on her pale skin.
"Azzurra..." Oliver murmured, approaching her.
She opened her eyes slowly. Her pupils were dilated, her gaze clouded by the drugs. For a moment, she didn't recognize him. Then, her hand sought his. As their fingers intertwined, Oliver's burns suddenly glowed with a violet light, as if the contact had triggered a chemical reaction.
"Oliver..." her voice was a breath. "Dad... Dad is alive. I felt him."
"I know, Azzurra. Your mother is with him. Now it's our turn. You have to get up."
"My legs... they feel heavy. Like they're made of stone."
Oliver lifted her. "Then I'll be your legs. I lifted you on the Richmond stage in front of all of London; I can carry you out of here."
At that moment, a low alarm began to chime—an intermittent hum indicating that the camera loop had been detected.
"Oliver! We have to go! They're coming!" Maya shouted from the corridor.
Oliver hoisted Azzurra onto his shoulders. She clung to his neck, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder. Together, they began the descent. They couldn't use the elevator. They plunged down the emergency stairs, hearing the heavy footsteps of security guards ascending from the lower floors.
"This way!" Maya exclaimed, guiding them toward the basement where the laundry was located.
The air was hot and humid, saturated with steam. Maya opened a laundry chute for soiled linens that led directly outside, near the loading dock.
"It's the only way," Maya said. "I'm going to retrieve Oliver's car in the public lot beyond the grove. You two slide down. I'll see you in two minutes at the east perimeter."
Oliver did not hesitate. He pulled Azzurra close and let himself slide into the metallic duct. It was a brief but violent flight that ended on a mountain of dirty sheets and discarded blankets. They emerged into the open air, into the biting Surrey cold. The mist enveloped them immediately, hiding them from the flashlights that were beginning to comb the grounds.
Azzurra coughed, breathing in the fresh air. "The sea... Oliver, I can smell the sea."
"We're far from the sea, Azzurra, but we'll reach it."
They walked through the mud, with Oliver supporting nearly all the girl's weight. Every step was a challenge against the pain tearing at his back, but Azzurra's presence was a balm that neutralized every suffering. They reached the fence just as the headlights of a familiar car flickered on in the darkness. Maya pulled up abruptly, her wheels skidding on the gravel.
They scrambled inside. Oliver slid behind the wheel of his dark sedan—the same one his parents had given him for his eighteenth birthday, a symbol of an orderly, middle-class life that now seemed to belong to a previous geological era. He inserted the key, feeling the roar of the engine like a cry of defiance. Being of legal age, having a license and a vehicle in his name was the last, thin line separating him from being a mere fugitive: in the eyes of the law, he was a man driving his own car, but in his heart, he was a pirate carrying his most precious treasure to safety.
"Buckle up, Azzurra," Oliver said firmly, shifting into gear. "Maya, check the sat-nav. Avoid the main motorways—Erica will know the plate and model by heart before dawn."
As the car slipped away through the backroads of Surrey, Azzurra looked back toward the clinic. St. Jude now seemed small, a brick toy that could no longer hold her.
"Erica will hunt us by any means," Maya said from the passenger seat, nervously scanning the rearview mirror. "We're fugitives now. And this car is an easy target if we stay on the main routes."
Azzurra looked up from the back seat. In her eyes, the fog of the sedatives was giving way to a new light—a determination that was nothing human. "Let her hunt us. Let the whole world watch. The Draunara needs an audience for the final act."
Oliver pressed the accelerator, pointing the headlights South. The journey had just begun. Three kids, a car that had become a shell of resistance, and the weight of a curse that was about to become their only weapon of salvation. As dawn began to break over the cliffs of Dover, Azzurra felt the bond with Sicily tighten like a violin string ready to snap. Elia was awake. Belinda was ready. And she, finally, was free to run toward the hurricane.