The gates slid open with a metallic groan as Ares escorted Shay, Sandro, and Lara out of the military base. Soldiers snapped to attention, boots striking pavement in crisp rhythm. No one spoke.
A matte-black Black Hawk waited on the landing pad, its blades already slicing through the afternoon-heavy air. The wind whipped Lara's ponytail loose as Ares guided Shay up first, one broad hand steady at her back.
Within minutes, they were airborne.
The Alta-Sierra mountain range shrank beneath them—tall trees and canopies of different shades of green bleeding into the horizon.
At the private airstrip, Ares' jet waited like a sleek predator, polished body gleaming under the afternoon sun.
An hour. That was all it would take to return to the capital—to tiled halls, armed guards, and secrets behind locked doors.
But inside the jet, it was quiet.
