The polished chrome and silent engine of the Maybach turned the journey back into a pressurized capsule. Outside, the city blurred into streaks of light and shadow, but inside, time had slowed to the deliberate pace of a chess grandmaster contemplating a final, killing move. Sterling didn't speak. He didn't need to. He watched me, his gaze an almost physical weight across the plush leather expanse separating us. It wasn’t a look of triumph, not yet. It was the patient, assessing stare of a man who has set the perfect trap and is now simply waiting for the satisfying click of the spring.
He believed the adrenaline of our shared victory, the intoxicating vapor of a perfectly executed hunt, had dissolved my defenses.
The terrifying part? He was right. My resolve, once a fortress of ice, was
