Barra did not sleep.
Aira could feel it.
Even in the quiet of the penthouse, even in the stillness before dawn, there was something restless in him. He stood by the window, staring at the city as if measuring it, calculating what it would cost to tear it apart.
Aira sat on the edge of the bed, watching his reflection in the glass.
“You are going to do something reckless,” she said softly.
“I am going to do something necessary,” Barra replied.
“That is not the same.”
He turned slightly, his expression unreadable. “Your brother gave you forty eight hours.”
“He gave me a threat.”
“He gave you a countdown.”
She wrapped her arms around herself. “If you strike first, it becomes war.”
“It already is.”
Silence lingered between them.
Aira stood and walked toward him. “He said there are
