The crunch of wheels on the fine gravel of the driveway announced the taxi's arrival long before the front door opened. In the living room of the Japanese team's residence, the atmosphere hung heavy with the density that precedes a storm. Taishi stood by the picture window, watching through the glass the silhouette of the vehicle stopped in front of the gate, while Venka maintained a tense silence leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed and gaze fixed on the hallway.
Jake hadn't moved from the center of the dining room. Hands shoved into his trousers pockets and back rigid as an iron bar, his violet eyes fixed on the wood of the door showed no wild rage, but a cold, calculating, and deeply pained sobriety.
