The night air of Geneva slipped cool through the slightly cracked window of the limo, carrying the faint tang of lake water and the promise of rain on the horizon.
Devon sank into the plush leather seat, his black suit was rumpled now, a dull ache spreading from a bruise on his arm where he'd braced himself during the egg challenge. Blood still pulsed in his ears, not just from the competition but from the system's warning looping like a siren in his mind: Survive the next 24 hours. Assassination attempt on your life.
It clung to him, turning every flicker outside the tinted windows into a threat every parked car a hiding spot, every pedestrian a potential killer.
He rubbed his temple, trying to ease the knot in his stomach, but it tightened with each quiet turn of the road.
