LYRA
"Can I ask you something?" Zeviar's eyes stayed glued to the road, like he already knew what was coming.
"The phone," I started, leaning forward, the worn leather of the seat feeling cool against my skin. "We left the ballroom with absolutely nothing. No bags, no phones, not a single thing. But you've been using that one since we got to the villa. Where did it come from?"
He glanced at me, a quick flash of his eyes. "Every property I own has a standard emergency kit. Devices, clothes, cash, medical supplies. It's protocol."
"Standard," I echoed, the word feeling a bit empty.
"When you're responsible for as many people as I am," he explained, his gaze back on the winding road, "you learn not to leave things to chance. Preparation isn't paranoia; it's discipline."
"How many proper
