The "Azure Vault" was no longer a villa; it was a fortress of glass reflecting a sky that promised a storm. After the sighting of the boat, Adrian had tripled the drone patrols. The hum of their rotors was a constant, insect-like drone that competed with the crashing of the waves. He had spent the morning in the command center, his face illuminated by the cold blue light of security feeds, leaving me to rot in the beauty of the master suite.
I sat at the easel, but the brush felt like a lead weight. My heart rate was a steady, monitored 72 bpm—the rhythm of a prisoner who had learned to breathe in the gaps between her master’s heartbeats.
The door chattered open. Adrian walked in, his white linen shirt discarded, his chest bare and glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. He looked raw, hi
