ROWEN

I sat in the back of the Maybach, legs crossed, fingers absently drumming against my knee as the golden hue of New York's evening bathed the sleek black windows of Grayson Towers.

Outside, the city pulsed with its usual rhythm of horns blaring, pedestrians rushing home, neon lights flickering to life. Inside, the silence was thicker. Controlled. James leaned slightly toward me from the front passenger seat, breaking it.

"Melissa’s parents paid a visit to her summer home this morning," he said quietly, keeping his gaze fixed forward but glancing at me in the rearview mirror.

I looked up slowly, blinking away my thoughts. "Is that so?"

"Yes, sir....