The city lights blurred beneath the helicopter’s tinted windows, neon bleeding into darkness like fresh blood seeping into silk. Adrian sat with his elbows on his knees, gloved hands clasped, eyes fixed on nothing. Not even the steady thrum of the blades could silence the pounding in his head. Cassiel’s name still rang like a curse in his mind.
She was playing her hand. And for once, he didn’t know the full deck.
Victor Albright.
He should have buried that bastard deeper. Shot him twice. Burned what was left.
“You sure about this?” Marco asked from across the cabin. His face was hard, but his eyes carried the question Adrian didn’t want to answer: Are we walking into a trap?
“I’m not here to be sure,” Adrian said coldly, “I’m here to end it.”
Marco said nothing more. He knew better.
