The Gulfstream G650ER tore through the freezing atmosphere at forty-three thousand feet, carving a silent, invisible path down the Eastern Seaboard.
Inside the pressurized cabin, the chaotic noise of Manhattan was entirely erased.
The interior was a masterclass in airborne isolation. Cream-colored leather captain's chairs, brushed aluminum accents, and the low, steady hum of the twin Rolls-Royce engines created a sterile, perfectly controlled vacuum.
Ryan sat by the starboard window, a glass of sparkling water resting on the burled wood table beside him.
He didn't wear the bespoke armor of a New York executive right now. He wore a dark, heavy-knit sweater and charcoal slacks.
The physical exhaustion of the last seventy-two hours sat deep in his joints, a dull, lingering ache that even the adrenaline couldn't entirely burn away.
He looked across the aisle.
Sophie was curled into one of the oversized leather seats, a thick cashmere blanket draped over her lap.
