The rumble of heavy diesel engines vibrated through the chalet's timber floorboards before the headlights even cleared the tree line.
It was ten minutes past four in the morning.
Thick mountain fog blanketed the Alpine pass, turning the moonlight into a cold, hazy blur. At the perimeter, the heavy iron gates groaned open, and the lead Mercedes G-Wagon crunched onto the snow-covered gravel of the courtyard.
Behind it came four more black utility trucks, their engines idling in a deep, rhythmic hum that sent thick plumes of white exhaust floating into the black sky.
Nico stood on the wide stone porch, his wool coat unbuttoned, revealing the Kevlar vest strapped to his chest. He looked exhausted, as if he hadn't slept in two days because he hadn't.
Beside him, Luca tapped rapidly on a glowing tactical tablet, confirming the perimeter defenses.
The driver's door of the lead G-Wagon opened, and Petyr stepped out onto the snow.
