The night air over the Northwood Lodge was crisp and biting, but down by the lower terrace, the steam rising from the infinity swimming pool created a warm, hazy microclimate amidst the freezing mountain mist. The surface of the water was as smooth and black as obsidian, reflecting the sparse, cold light of the alpine stars.
Marcus had needed to clear his head. After his bizarre conversation with Malcolm earlier in the day—and the exhausting task of ordering an entire wardrobe of turtlenecks for a man possessed by an Enigma—his nerves were frayed to the breaking point. The pool was supposed to be his sanctuary, a place where he could submerge himself in the quiet and pretend that his boss hadn't just been branded by a biological anomaly.
He was already in the water, swimming smooth, rhythmic laps, the cool relief of the chlorine washing away the lingering scent of cedar and Alpha madness from the study.
