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I had expected long queues, busy terminals, and lots of people dragging suitcases behind them.

Instead, the building Nik had sent us to was quiet, with tinted windows and only a handful of cars outside.

“This is it, right next to hangar six. We’ll walk into the lobby, give them our names, and everything else should be taken care of. I’m sure Nik has his jet just on the other side of this building.”

My pulse quickened.

After everything it had taken to get here, the entrance looked ridiculously ordinary.

Lachlan opened the door and motioned me through first.

I stepped inside, and cool air washed over me.

The FBO looked nothing like the airports I’d seen in photographs. There was a polished stone floor, low black leather chairs, and travelers scattered through the lounge staring at cellphones as though flying somewhere in a private aircraft was no more remarkable than catching a taxi.

A woman behind the reception desk looked up.

Her attention paused on Lachlan, then moved to me.

“Mr. Byrnes?”

“Aye.”

Relief loosened something in my chest.

Nik had done exactly what he’d promised.

The woman came around the desk. “They’re waiting for you. Right through there.”

She gestured toward a wall of windows overlooking the airfield.

“Thank you.” Lachlan nodded.

For a moment, I forgot to move.

The white jet sat beyond the glass with its door open and stairs lowered, glowing against the daylight. Sleek and impossibly pristine, it looked like something belonging to another world.

“That’s ours?” I asked.

Lachlan followed my stare.

“Aye, that’s Nik’s G800.”

I’d understood that Lachlan’s people had money. Power. Resources far beyond anything I could comprehend. But understanding it and seeing an airplane like this waiting to carry us out of the country were two very different things.

Several men were crossing the ramp toward the FBO from the direction of the jet.

I knew which one was Lucian almost immediately.

He was darker where Lachlan was fair, but the resemblance was unmistakable—the height, the broad shoulders, the shape of his face. Like someone had taken pieces of Lachlan and rearranged them into another man.

Lucian saw us.

He stopped for half a second, and even through the glass I saw the relief break across his face in a huge smile.

Lachlan glanced over his shoulder. “That’s Lucian,” he said quietly beside me.

Another man walked beside him, with three more spread around them.