London mornings always felt too grey.
Too slow and too quiet in a way that didn't suit the kind of tension simmering beneath my skin.
When I stepped out of the hotel and into the cold air, the sky was still covered in that heavy London fog. Cars rushed by, and people moved with purpose, but everything still felt muted like the whole city was breathing through cloth. I couldn't wait to be back home.
I adjusted my coat and headed toward the waiting car.
There were meetings lined up from 9 a.m. straight through noon. For LA, that meant Mira was still asleep. The thought made something loosen in me. At least she had peace… even if it was temporary.
I slid into the back seat.
"Morning, sir," the driver said.
"Morning," I replied, tapping open the encrypted messages Tomas had forwarded overnight.
Nothing alarming.
But nothing comforting either.
Everything felt… paused. Like the air before a storm.
