The helicopter touches down just after midnight. The minute the door opens, the warm night air hits my face, thick and heavy. Guards are waiting. So is a sleek black, engine running, doors wide open like it's been holding its breath for us.
August doesn't wait.
He jumps out first, already barking instructions into his earpiece. "No delays. I want the royal medic on standby. Bring him to the west wing. Also, send a team to sweep the hotel in Maldives. I want every security camera, every shadow, every face."
I'm barely on my feet, but I follow him. Or maybe I just follow the sound of Logan's soft, uneven breathing as they transfer him out. He hasn't spoken since we left. Hasn't opened his eyes. But he's alive. And that has to be enough for now.
We arrive at the palace faster than I can
