The next morning arrived quiet and gray, the kind of dawn that felt more like an afterthought than a fresh start.
Sunlight filtered weakly through heavy clouds hanging low over the private airstrip on the outskirts of the city, turning the tarmac a dull silver and making the distant runway lights look almost unnecessary.
The air was sharp with the bite of jet fuel, wet concrete from overnight rain, and the faint metallic tang that always seemed to cling to places where expensive machines waited to leave the ground. A sleek Gulfstream G650ER sat on the apron, engines already idling with that low, impatient growl rich people's planes always make—like they're annoyed at having to wait for mere mortals.
The aircraft gleamed under the overcast sky, its dark blue and silver livery still carrying a few stray raindrops that hadn't yet dried.
Devon walked out first from the black SUV that had brought them.
