The interior of the silver executive sedan was a sanctuary of soundproof luxury, but tonight, the silence inside the cabin was deafening. Outside, the slums of the Southside docks blurred past the rain-streaked, heavily tinted windows, quickly giving way to the pristine, illuminated highways that led back to the corporate heart of the city.
The privacy partition separating the rear cabin from the driver was firmly engaged.
Elara Vance sat pressed against the far door, her arms crossed tightly over her charcoal-gray blazer. She did not look out the window. Her piercing, crystal-clear eyes were locked entirely on me. Her chest rose and fell with slow, deliberate breaths, as she actively willed the residual adrenaline of the mafia standoff out of her bloodstream.
I sat opposite her, my pos
