The coordinates Marcus provided led me to the Grand Meridian Hotel. Eighteenth floor. Presidential suite.
I stood on the rooftop of the adjacent building, studying the illuminated windows across the narrow gap. The night air was cold against my face, but my blood burned with controlled fury.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I could see them clearly. Two men in expensive suits, celebrating with champagne and cigars. Their arrogance was palpable even from this distance.
I lit a cigarette and took a slow drag. The nicotine did nothing to calm my rage.
Inside the suite, I watched as a third figure was dragged into view. Logan Zane. Victor's deputy director. The traitor who had sold out my people.
Time to make my entrance.
I flicked the cigarette between my fingers and stepped to the edge of the rooftop. The eighteen-story drop yawned below, but I felt no fear. Only cold purpose.
The presidential suite reeked of expensive cologne and betrayal.
