The elevator doors slid open, revealing the hushed opulence of the private garage. The black limousine, engine idling, waited like a predator. The world outside seemed to tilt as they guided me into the back seat, my body protesting every movement. The door closed with a heavy, final thud, encasing us in a bubble of leather and silence.
The sun was merciless.
It pressed down through the tinted windows of the car, turning the world outside into a glare of heat.
Gray rode up front, speaking into a secure line, his voice low and clipped. The rest of the team flanked us in a diamond formation—unmarked, untraceable, and lethal. Cameron sat beside me, his crutch wedged against the seat, his jaw locked in quiet pain.
Every so often, his eyes flicked toward me — that mix of worry and restraint that had become second nature to him.
