The room was dimly lit.
"Take a guess," the man said, his strikingly handsome features appearing even more chiseled under the glow of the surveillance screen.
"What solution have they come up with?"
His sharp, dark eyes took in every subtle shift in the expressions of the people on the monitor, his gaze icy enough to freeze the air.
Studying the man's aloof, godlike profile, Ramsey answered cautiously, "Seeking help from grandpa?"
Sinclair's long, pale fingers tapped idly against the armrest of the sofa, his lips curling into a faint, humorless smile. "Progress."
Ramsey exhaled slightly in relief.
"Is everything ready on Camilla's end?"
The tone was just as indifferent, but Ramsey detected a trace of warmth beneath it.
"All set.
We're just waiting for the show to begin."
"Good."
Sinclair gazed at the image of Tyler on the screen, his dark, almond-shaped eyes laced with casual indifference.
"It's time we made our move."
