DAMON'S POV
An hour later, we stood on the tarmac. Mr. Brownlow had arrived with ten officers, all geared up, ready for the mission.
Leo came in front of me and gave a nod that the jet was ready. Without wasting another second, we boarded the jet and took off.
It took us two hours to land in Stornoway. The airport was small, barely a speck compared to Glasgow’s. The town itself wasn’t a large one. It had the sleepy charm of a fishing town that had never fully woken to modernity.
When we got to the airport entrance, we split into pairs and hailed cabs.
“Harbour Kitchen,” Mr Brownlow told one of the drivers whom the others followed behind in a line of cabs.
The locals wouldn't stop staring at us when the cabs rolled into the narrow streets. I caught their eyes filled with curiosity—a
