"We're here."
Aria woke to Marcus's voice. The plane had landed, and she'd slept through most of the flight. Her body was still healing and still exhausted.
"Where's here?" She sat up slowly as pain shot through her back, and she winced.
"Zurich. We landed twenty minutes ago, and I didn't want to wake you until the car was ready." Marcus helped her into her wheelchair, which the pilot had loaded onto the plane before they left New York. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I got shot twice and spent six hours on a plane," she said, managing a weak smile. "So, pretty standard."
Marcus didn't smile back. His face was tense and alert, scanning everything.
They exited the plane into a private hangar, where a black SUV waited, and the driver was already behind the wheel. Marcus didn't introduce him or speak beyond a nod.
He helped Aria into the back seat, collapsed the wheelchair, and loaded it along with their bags.
