CASSIAN
I opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, the leather warm against my back. The music cut off immediately, plunging the car into a silence that felt twice as heavy.
Cyan didn't start the car. He turned in his seat, his eyes hidden behind expensive sunglasses, studying me with the intensity of an artist looking for a flaw in a canvas. "How'd it go?"
"He agreed to sell," I said, leaning my head back and closing my eyes. "Under the condition that I oversee the integration personally."
Cyan whistled low, raising his eyebrows. "Seriously? You're going to be grounded in the office for months."
"My father agreed. Enthusiastically."
"Well, that's good, right?" Cyan paused, waiting for me to look at him.
I turned my head to look out the window, watching the gates of Durant's estate. "Yeah," I breathed. But the word lacked weight. I didn't feel the rush of victory. I didn't feel the predatory satisfaction of a successful hunt.
