Chapter 8: The Azure Cage
Gemma
The Gulf Stream hums beneath the wings of the Blackwell G650, a low, vibrating purr that should be soothing but feels like a ticking clock. Outside the oval window, the Mediterranean is a sheet of hammered sapphire, vast and indifferent.
I look down at my hands. They’re clean—scrubbed raw in the sink of a private hangar—but I can still feel the kick of the 9mm in my palms. I can still see the look in Reyna’s eyes when the light went out. I killed my sister. My stepsister, my tormentor, the woman who shared my childhood home.
A warm, heavy weight settles over my shoulders. Cassian draped his cashmere sweater around me, his fingers lingering on the nape of my neck. He smells of cedar and the expensive scotch he’s been nursing since we cleared Italian airsp
