The penthouse was quiet, almost eerily so, the kind of stillness that made every tick of the grandfather clock in the corner feel magnified, each second stretching into a small eternity. The air carried the faint scent of sandalwood and sea breeze—Aira’s signature diffuser.
Darius stepped through the polished glass doors, his leather shoes muted against the cool marble floor—trained instinct keeping his movements light, unobtrusive, the same way he’d moved through crowded markets and shadowed alleys during his years in field work.
Ion was at his desk by the floor-to-ceiling windows, papers neatly arranged in color-coded stacks before him, his posture relaxed yet precise. Every gesture was measured and deliberate—fingers pausing exactly three seconds before turning a page, pen tapping tw
