The dawn had barely begun to emerge on the outskirts of Madrid when Sloane was already awake.
Behind the hotel window, the city slept deeply. Only the bluish light of distant streetlamps flickered over the occasional shadow. The world was still quiet, but in Sloane's mind, the clock had been ticking for days.
By 5:30, she was dressed in training pants and a pullover, her hair pulled into a bun. She turned on a single light in the kitchen—just enough to see. The espresso machine hissed as it poured the coffee. On the table, her tablet, notes, and a printed list were already in place: profiles of potential sparring partners, complete with physical and psychological evaluations.
Three days to Prague.
And still, they didn't know who would be traveling with them.
Most people hadn't even bl
