ADRIAN'S POV
Breakfast on St. Jude's Key was a far cry from the lukewarm tray-slop of Hell's Watch. Back there, meals came on plastic trays pushed through reinforced doors, the food always slightly overcooked and faintly metallic from sitting too long beneath heat lamps. You ate because your body required fuel, not because the experience held any pleasure.
Here, breakfast was something else entirely, and the upper terrace of the villa overlooked the eastern side of the island, where the morning sun rose cleanly over the Atlantic. Warm light spilled across polished stone floors and gleaming glass railings. The air carried the mingled scents of hibiscus flowers, sea salt, and freshly pressed Kona coffee.
