MACE

I moved through the house like a man possessed. The silence where Michael’s pack used to be should have been a relief, but instead, it felt like the calm before a catastrophic storm. They were gone, but the stain of their presence—and the threat Michael had issued at breakfast—lingered in the air.

"How soon can the jet be ready?" I demanded, striding down the main corridor, Cassandra struggling to keep up with my pace.

"An hour. Maybe less if I call in a favor with the pilot," she replied, breathless, clutching her satchel tight. "But Mace, the passport—"

"Jackie is handling it. If she has to bribe every official...