Julian's private jet touched down on the tarmac under a slate‑gray Manhattan sky. By the time Mila Chen and Lucas stepped off the gangway, two black SUVs idled at the foot of the stairs, engines purring like caged beasts.
“Mommy, I'm tired," Lucas whispered, clutching his crutches.
Mila knelt beside him. “Almost there, baby." She scanned the security detail—twelve men in tailored suits, eyes hidden behind sunglasses. None offered a sympathetic glance.
A gravel‑voiced agent barked, “Get in."
Mila guided Lucas into the first SUV; two agents flanked her as she buckled him into the child seat. She slid in beside him, heart pounding. The door slammed.
Down the West Side Highway, skyscrapers loomed. Mile after mile of glass and steel brought them to Thorne Tower—an obsidian monolith that sc
