Inside the hovercar, Ethan leaned back in the driver's seat, a half-empty bottle of high-end nutrient solution forgotten in the cup holder. His usually immaculate appearance was slightly disheveled—tie loosened, top button undone, hair mussed as if he had been running his hands through it too many times.
His hovercar sat quietly a short distance from where Grayson's vehicle had landed. The tinted windows cloaked him in shadow. Although even if anyone had looked, they would have just seen nothing but a man waiting patiently.
Ethan's fingers tapped an erratic rhythm on the steering controls, gaze fixed on the other hovercar.
The passenger door opened first.
Ethan's eyes sharpened, the faintest spark of interest lighting in the dim cabin as Neville stepped out. Grayson didn't follow, but Neville's abrupt movement—slamming the door with a loud, unnecessary thud and walking off without a glance back—told him everything he needed to know.
Ethan's lips curved, slow and lazy.
