The black Rolls-Royce Phantom glided through the rain-drenched streets like a phantom gliding across a graveyard. Inside, the leather interior smelled faintly of rich cedarwood and Aaryan Russo’s lingering tobacco. Meher sat pressed against the cold glass of the window, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, knuckles white. The rain outside washed over the dark tint, blurring the city lights into smears of gold and red.

Beside her sat Daniel. He hadn't spoken a single word since they left 'The Black Pearl.' His armed hand rested casually over his lap, the metallic shine of his holster visible whenever the streetlights flickered through the windshield. He didn't need to threaten her; his silence was a weapon in itself.