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  ### CHAPTER 10: NEW BEGINNINGS

  **Stockholm Arlanda Airport, Sweden – 3:45 PM**

  Leon Graves moved through the bustling terminal of Stockholm Arlanda Airport, his posture relaxed but purposeful. The faint hum of chatter and the occasional announcement over the PA system blended into the background as he navigated the crowd with practiced ease. He was no longer Markus Steiner, the German chauffeur.

  Now, he was **Ryan Cole**, a European tourist exploring the beauty of Stockholm—or at least, that’s what his forged passport said. To the world, he was Ryan Cole. To himself, he would always be Leon.

  His forged documents were flawless, the alias backed by a complete digital footprint. Leon had perfected the art of reinvention, shedding identities as easily as changing clothes. But this time, it felt different. This time, he wasn’t running toward a mission or away from danger. He was here to disappear, to blend into the quiet order of a city that didn’t ask questions.

  As he approached the immigration counter, he handed his passport to the officer, a middle-aged man with a stern expression and a neatly trimmed mustache. The officer scanned the document, his eyes flicking between the photo and Leon’s face.

  "Purpose of visit?" the officer asked, his tone neutral but probing.

  Leon gave a polite smile, his voice calm and measured. "Tourism. I’ve heard so much about Stockholm’s beauty. Thought I’d see it for myself."

  The officer paused, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary. Leon’s heart rate remained steady, his breathing even. He had been through this countless times before. The officer glanced at his screen, typed a few keystrokes, and then nodded.

  "Welcome to Sweden, Mr. Cole."

  Leon took back his passport with a slight nod of thanks and walked through without issue.

  Germany was behind him.

  **Sweden was the perfect hiding place—for now.**

  ---

  **4:30 PM – Stockholm, ?stermalm District**

  Leon stepped out of the taxi, the crisp Scandinavian air brushing against his face. The ?stermalm district was a picture of elegance—neatly cobbled streets lined with high-end boutiques, chic cafés, and stately buildings that exuded old-world charm. The city was alive, but not in the chaotic way of Frankfurt or Paris. Stockholm moved with a quiet sophistication, a rhythm that felt almost soothing.

  His hotel, a sleek five-star establishment, catered to high-profile guests who valued privacy. The lobby was a study in modern minimalism—polished marble floors, clean lines, and muted tones of gray and beige. A discreet chandelier cast a soft glow over the space, and the faint scent of lavender wafted through the air.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Leon approached the reception desk, where a young woman with a professional smile greeted him.

  "Welcome, sir. How may I assist you?"

  "Ryan Cole," Leon said, handing over his passport. "I have a reservation."

  The receptionist typed quickly, her fingers dancing over the keyboard. "Ah, yes, Mr. Cole. We have you in one of our executive suites. If you’ll just sign here, please."

  Leon signed the form with a practiced hand, his signature smooth and unremarkable. The receptionist handed him a keycard and gestured toward the elevators.

  "Your suite is on the 12th floor. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to let us know."

  Leon nodded his thanks and made his way to the elevators. The ride was smooth and silent, the mirrored walls reflecting his calm, composed expression. When the doors opened, he stepped into a hallway lined with plush carpeting and soft lighting.

  His suite was spacious and minimalist, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a stunning view of the city skyline. The décor was understated yet luxurious—a king-sized bed with crisp white linens, a sleek desk, and a sitting area with a leather sofa and a coffee table. A small kitchenette was tucked into the corner, stocked with premium teas and coffees.

  Leon dropped his bag on the bed and walked to the window, gazing out at the city below. The sun was beginning to set, casting a golden hue over the rooftops and the water of the nearby harbor. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to breathe.

  For now, he had no contracts. No targets. No one hunting him.

  But he wasn’t naive. He knew peace was an illusion. People like him didn’t get to rest—not for long.

  ---

  **6:00 PM – The Café**

  Leon had spent enough time in hiding to understand one rule: always establish control over your surroundings.

  So, he left the hotel and wandered into the city, studying the streets, the people, and the rhythm of Stockholm at night. He wasn’t scouting for threats or planning an escape route. For once, he was simply observing, letting the city’s calm seep into him.

  Eventually, he found himself drawn to a small café tucked away from the main roads. The sign above the door read *"Kaffehuset"*—Swedish for "The Coffee House." It was the kind of place where no one asked questions, where the patrons were more interested in their books or laptops than in the people around them.

  He stepped inside, the warm scent of coffee and freshly baked pastries filling the air. The soft hum of conversation created a subtle background noise, providing a soothing ambiance. Leon chose a corner table, allowing him to keep an eye on the entrance and the rest of the café.

  As he settled into his seat, he glanced around, taking in the details of his surroundings. The café was cozy, with wooden tables and vintage posters adorning the walls. The patrons were a mix of locals and tourists, each absorbed in their own world.

  And then he saw her.

  **Ava Sinclair.**

  She stood behind the counter, her presence delicate yet undeniable. The café’s dim lighting cast a golden glow over her, highlighting the soft contours of her face. Her long auburn hair, loosely tied back, framed her features with effortless beauty. A few loose strands escaped, brushing against her smooth, fair skin.

  Her hazel eyes—warm, deep, and filled with quiet thoughtfulness—remained focused on the drink she was preparing. There was an elegance in her movements, an unspoken grace that set her apart. She wasn’t hurried like the other employees; instead, she worked with a quiet precision, as if she found peace in the simplicity of what she was doing.

  She was slender, her figure accentuated by the fitted café uniform—a light-colored blouse tucked into a modest, flowing skirt that fell just below her knees. The fabric moved gently as she shifted, tracing the outline of her toned yet feminine form. She wasn’t fragile, but there was a softness to her, a contrast to the hard edges of the world Leon lived in.

  For a moment, he simply watched her.

  It wasn’t recognition—he had never seen her before. But something about her disrupted the cold, calculated world he had built for himself.

  Captivated by the way she moved. But before he could dwell on his thoughts, Ava approached his table.

  A part of him told him to leave. She didn’t belong in his world. She was light, and he was darkness. She was peace, and he was chaos.

  And yet, instead of walking away, he stayed.

  She pulled out a small notepad.

  “Good evening,” she said gently, her voice soft yet imbued with strength. “What can I get for you?”

  Then her hazel eyes met his.

  Leon felt nothing when he killed. Nothing when he assumed new identities. Nothing when he erased his past.

  But for the first time in a long time, he felt something unexpected.

  ---

  **End of Chapter 10**

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