In the same city, under the same night sky, Timothy York's car was on its way back to the hotel.
Ivan Gray sat silently in the passenger seat, handling some business on a tablet. In the back, Timothy York had closed his eyes to rest the moment he got in the car, so quiet he might as well have not been there.
Even so, Ivan Gray didn't dare make a sound, feeling as though he were suffocating in the silence.
Halfway through the drive, a phone Ivan Gray was carrying suddenly rang, shattering the car's silent atmosphere.
But it did nothing to break Ivan Gray's unease. On the contrary, the ringing of the phone made his entire body tense up in an instant.
It was Timothy York's phone, and only one person ever called that number to contact him.
Ivan Gray pulled out the phone and glanced back. Just as he expected, Timothy York had slowly opened his eyes.
But his eyes, shrouded in the dim light, held almost no luster.
They were terrifyingly deep and dark.
