Devon stepped off the jet, his boots hitting the smooth tarmac with a quiet thud that echoed a bit in the open space. Geneva air rushed at him right away, cool and sharp, like a splash of cold water after the stuffy warmth inside the plane. It carried that fresh mountain scent, mixed with a hint of jet fuel lingering in the breeze, and he took a deep breath, letting it clear his head.
The sky was turning that deep blue of early evening, stars just starting to poke through, and far off, the outline of the Alps loomed like silent guardians. He adjusted the collar of his shirt, still a little damp from the flight's adventures, and scanned the area, empty runway, a few ground crew milling about, nothing out of the ordinary. But then, cutting through the quiet, came the sound of footsteps, quick and determined, heading straight his way.
