The night sky bled into streaks of indigo and silver as the private jet roared to life on the secluded runway, its engines slicing through the silence like a beast awakening. The metallic tang of jet fuel mingled with the faint, sterile scent of antiseptic inside the cabin , a sharp reminder of the chaos that had almost killed Roger hours ago. He walked up the steps slowly, his movements heavy yet composed, a predator licking his wounds and plotting his next strike.
The dim interior lights cast a golden hue across the cabin, reflecting off the leather seats and the polished edge of the silver tray the nurse was preparing. She was young, barely in her thirties, her hands steady despite the turbulence of the night outside. Her eyes flickered briefly toward Roger — the kind of look that mixed both fear and duty. He had that effect on people. Even when broken and bruised, Roger exuded danger.
