The low, rhythmic thrum of the washing machine in the laundry closet felt like a dull heartbeat vibrating through the walls of the Enge penthouse. In the master bathroom, the air was thick with the scent of pine-scented antiseptic and the sharp, metallic tang of iron that refused to be washed away by simple tap water. Kai stood over the marble basin, his shoulders hunched, watching the thin stream of water swirl down the drain. He had managed to rinse the worst of the blood from his shirt, but the adrenaline that had fueled his mission for Ethel was now ebbing away, leaving a hollow tremor in its wake.
He gripped the edge of the vanity, his knuckles turning white as he stared at his reflection. His hair was damp from the Zurich rain, and a jagged, dark bruise was beginning to bloom along
