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The hotel sells quiet, polished brass, and the illusion that nothing bad ever happens above the lobby. Lina knows better. She's spent years in the rooms where governments, arms brokers, and shell charities trade sentences that never reach the news. Tonight, on the thirty-first floor with a river view and a deadbolt set, she chooses a different client: her phone's recorder, a grid card hidden under a cushion, and Jack Colder, brought in to get her out if things go wrong.
They start like lovers and work like accomplices. Lina undresses her client Harkan with language instead of hands, laying out shell foundations, end-user certificates, and warehouse numbers in a calm, prosecutable record. The file will make three men very rich and one man disappear. Jack pockets the evidence, notes the chain gap on the door, and studies every angle of the room. Lina picks a safe word-"Interpreter"-because romance doesn't save anyone. It just decides how you fall.
When the corridor air changes and the first silent rounds chew through the doorjamb, theory becomes practice. Jack drags Lina into the seam behind a dresser as the chain gives, extinguishes the lamp in a cloud of extinguisher powder, and turns the suite into instant weather. Three gunmen arrive expecting a tidy rehearsal. What they get is a blind fight through dust and dark, a bathtub hide, a booby-trapped toilet tank, and a hotel turned into a maze of service stairs, laundry floors, roof ladders, and a listing window-washer rig hanging over the river.
As they climb, fall, and improvise an escape route no architect would sign off on, Lina finds out what it means to be held still by someone who knows exactly why-and what it costs to do this work beside a man whose job is not to die for you, but with you if the angles run out. Every level they clear draws more players in: hotel security with good intentions and bad aim, cousins who think dawn is the real show, the umbrella woman's sniper on the museum roof, and, finally, two silhouettes waiting at the ferry steps.
One is the patron, watching like a satisfied director. The other is Harkan's quiet shoulder man, pistol low and ready. Between them, on a cold stair, stand Jack and Lina, out of floors to climb and out of places to hide. Safe Word is a close-quarters Colder case about testimony as currency, desire as a pressure point, and the split second when you decide whether you're a witness, a target, or something more dangerous: a survivor who refuses to speak anyone else's script.
They start like lovers and work like accomplices. Lina undresses her client Harkan with language instead of hands, laying out shell foundations, end-user certificates, and warehouse numbers in a calm, prosecutable record. The file will make three men very rich and one man disappear. Jack pockets the evidence, notes the chain gap on the door, and studies every angle of the room. Lina picks a safe word-"Interpreter"-because romance doesn't save anyone. It just decides how you fall.
When the corridor air changes and the first silent rounds chew through the doorjamb, theory becomes practice. Jack drags Lina into the seam behind a dresser as the chain gives, extinguishes the lamp in a cloud of extinguisher powder, and turns the suite into instant weather. Three gunmen arrive expecting a tidy rehearsal. What they get is a blind fight through dust and dark, a bathtub hide, a booby-trapped toilet tank, and a hotel turned into a maze of service stairs, laundry floors, roof ladders, and a listing window-washer rig hanging over the river.
As they climb, fall, and improvise an escape route no architect would sign off on, Lina finds out what it means to be held still by someone who knows exactly why-and what it costs to do this work beside a man whose job is not to die for you, but with you if the angles run out. Every level they clear draws more players in: hotel security with good intentions and bad aim, cousins who think dawn is the real show, the umbrella woman's sniper on the museum roof, and, finally, two silhouettes waiting at the ferry steps.
One is the patron, watching like a satisfied director. The other is Harkan's quiet shoulder man, pistol low and ready. Between them, on a cold stair, stand Jack and Lina, out of floors to climb and out of places to hide. Safe Word is a close-quarters Colder case about testimony as currency, desire as a pressure point, and the split second when you decide whether you're a witness, a target, or something more dangerous: a survivor who refuses to speak anyone else's script.
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