"You're making a massive mistake, Sterling," I said, my voice cold, sharp, and steady.
I didn't back away from the heavy oak table. I didn't glance toward the double doors where two of Vance’s armed heavies stood blocking the exit. I kept my posture still, my hands resting in my pockets, but every muscle in my frame pulled taut like a bowstring.
Sterling Vance didn't flinch. He adjusted the gold cufflink on his left sleeve with slow, calculated precision, his shadow stretching across the Persian rug inside the embassy's private library. The room smelled of old paper, leather, and decaying authority. Outside these walls, Paris moved on in total ignorance. Inside, the air felt like crushed glass.
"A mistake?" Sterling murmured. He looked up, his grey eyes dead and unreadable. "No, Rhys. A
