THE JET TOUCHED DOWN on the private tarmac with a whisper-soft jolt, the engines whining as they powered down. Outside, the city lights of the metropolis flickered like fallen stars against the damp pavement, a stark contrast to the ethereal, snow-capped silence of Zurich or the sun-drenched rolling hills of Tuscany.
Grayson unbuckled his seatbelt, his movements efficient and sharp. He didn't look at Mailah as he stood, though he paused for a fraction of a second when his hand brushed the velvet box still tucked in his coat pocket.
"The car is waiting," Grayson stated, his voice devoid of the warmth he'd accidentally spilled in the observatory.
"And so is my bed," Carson groaned, stretching his arms until his joints popped.
Lucson stood, smoothing the front of his impeccable vest. "We have to coordinate with the household guard at Ashford Manor."
