The sky outside Hunter’s penthouse office was a canvas of steel and ash, the last vestiges of night clinging to the distant horizon before the relentless advance of dawn.
Early morning light, sharp and unforgiving, began to filter through the vast, floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the sterile air. Hunter stood perfectly still behind his imposing mahogany desk, a sentinel in his urban fortress. In his hand, a steaming mug of black coffee, its bitter aroma a stark contrast to the luxurious emptiness of the room.
His mind, however, had not found such stillness; it churned with the volatile mix of information and instinct, refusing to yield to the false promise of rest.
Not after what his agent had revealed yesterday. The photographs, the names, the chillin
