[Jake's POV]
The interior of the Gulfstream G650 smelled like antiseptic, copper, and the sharp, metallic tang of adrenaline.
We were thirty thousand feet above the Atlantic Ocean, tearing through the stratosphere at Mach 0.9, leaving the burning ruins of Isabella Vane's Swiss fortress far behind us. But the silence in the cabin wasn't the silence of victory. It was the heavy, exhausted quiet of survivors who knew they had just barely escaped with their lives.
I was lying shirtless on the plush leather sofa in the rear of the cabin. The pain suppression protocols the System had engaged during the escape were beginning to wear off, replaced by a deep, burning agony radiating from the bullet hole in my right side.
Claire was kneeling beside me, her hands covered in latex gloves, her face pale and intensely focused. She had stripped away my ruined tactical vest and sweater, cleaning the entry and exit wounds with terrifying efficiency.
