The pressurized hum of the Gulfstream’s cabin was the only sound bridging the gap between the warm, salt-crusted air of the Bahamas and the frozen, industrial smog of Blackwood City. Outside the oval windows, the tropical blue of the Caribbean had long since faded into a bruised, leaden grey as the jet cruised at thirty-five thousand feet, racing the storm front that seemed to follow the Vultures wherever they rode.
Elena Vance sat in the plush leather lounger of the private suite, her legs curled beneath her, watching the dark clouds churn outside. She had changed out of her emerald silk trousers, opting instead for a soft, cashmere knit dress in a deep charcoal that contrasted sharply with the brilliant, polished silver of the collar at her throat. The metal felt like a natural extensio
