The house on the hill had finally stopped smelling like a construction site. The sharp, chemical bite of the paint had mellowed into a clean, velvet scent, and the sawdust had been scrubbed from the floorboards. But as the clock ticked down to a mere seventy-two hours before Victor had to report for the flight that would take him out of the country, the air in the house grew heavy with a different kind of pressure.
It was the weight of the "Quiet."
Victor had spent the morning in his dress blues, a final string of high-level video conferences that had left his jaw tight and his eyes hard. But the moment he logged off, the General vanished. He stripped off the jacket, unknotted his tie, and sought Briar out with a desperation that was becoming his new baseline.
He found her in the ma
