SOPHIE'S POV
The private jet was a pressurized capsule of luxury and lethal intent, cutting through the troposphere. Inside the cabin, the air was recycled, cool, and carried the faint, metallic tang of high-end electronics. Across from me, Izzy was cleaning a customized serrated blade with the kind of rhythmic devotion most people reserved for prayer.
I, however, was staring at a screen, and my lap was occupied by a military-grade deck, a black box that Nate had helped me configure back on the island. It was currently tunnelling through a dozen proxy servers in Reykjavik and Singapore, trying to maintain a heartbeat connection to the Heller-Vance mainframe in London.
Every time the cursor blinked, it felt like a pulse."You're vibrating again, Sophie," Izzy said without looking up from her blade. "I can hear your nervous system hum from across the aisle."
"I'm not nervous," I lied, my fingers flying across the haptic keyboard. "I'm calculating. There's a difference."
