The jet touched down on Feilun's rain-slicked runway, tires hissing against the wet tarmac.
Midnight had come and gone, leaving the city shrouded in darkness broken only by scattered lights.
Kane pressed his face against the window, watching sheets of rain distort the airport lights into watery halos.
"Perfect weather for breaking into a cathedral."
Cyrus led him across the tarmac, their shoulders hunched against the downpour. Rain hammered against Kane's jacket, soaking through within seconds.
In the private terminal's parking garage, a sleek black Mercedes waited, its polished surface reflecting the fluorescent lights overhead.
Cyrus started the engine, its purr barely audible above the rain pounding the roof. He navigated through the empty airport roads, windshield wipers slashing rhythmically through the deluge.
Downtown Feilun emerged from the rain like a noir film set—all gleaming wet streets and neon reflections.
