The private jet cut smoothly through the night sky. The cabin lights were dimmed low.
I sat in my seat, watching the darkness outside the window. The wounds on my hand had started bleeding again — a few thin lines of red from gripping the fire axe too hard. Now that the adrenaline from trashing the shop had faded, all that was left was a deep, bone-deep exhaustion.
A steaming cup of milk was placed on the small table in front of me. Next to it, a warm, damp towel.
I turned my head.
It was the man who had met me in the VIP lounge before boarding. He had taken off his suit jacket and was now just in his shirt.
"I turned up the cabin temperature, but you're not wearing much." He sat down across the aisle and handed me a cashmere throw. "Drink something warm first. Settle your stomach."
