Night settled over one of the upscale neighborhoods in New York's borough like a slow-pouring ink. The sky deepened to a velvet blue, scattered with diamond-bright stars that glittered against the hush of late evening. A thin crescent moon hung above the treetops, silvering the manicured lawns of the Winford estate. Earlier in the day the mansion had been a hornet's nest—an unexpected visitor, raised voices, even a slap that still lingered. Now it stood quiet again.
The silence broke with the low hum of engines. Two black sedans glided up the private drive, their headlights cutting through the darkness. At the wrought-iron gate, motion sensors blinked and the gates swung open with a smooth mechanical sigh, allowing the cars to roll across the wide courtyard.
