The yacht came ashore at dawn, the wood of the dock creaking as the ropes pulled tight. A faint fog drifted over the water, the air sharp with salt and oil.
On the dock, Makiam’s guards stood waiting in silence, their guns ready and their dark shapes barely churning in the early light.
Damien stepped down first, his blazer shifting with the morning breeze, his pace steady and unhurried. He didn’t look at the guards, didn’t look at Makiam, not even at Yelena trailing behind him with wet hair clinging to her face. His eyes were fixed forward, as if this ground already belonged to him because it did.
“Feels good to stand here again. You’ve been keeping my corridor warm for me, Wolfe.” Makiam said as he followed behind Damien with a proud smile.
But Damien kept mute and the silence presse
