POV RUBY
The morning light over the Bosphorus was a cold, surgicalblue, cutting through the salt-crusted windows of thecottage. I sat on the floor in the center of the room, mylegs crossed, my palms resting upward. I wasn't looking at the sea. I was looking at the world.
Behind my eyelids, the neural bridge was humming at a frequency that felt like a low-grade fever. Nevan wasstanding at the window, his back to me, but I didn't needto see his face to know he was on high alert. I could feelthe way his eyes tracked a passing fishing boat, the wayhis fingers twitched near his holster, and the dark, obsessive current of his thoughts: Protect. Shield. Killanything that breathes too loud.
I need to go deeper, Nevan, I thought, my voice echoing in our shared headspace. The Istanbul cell was ju
