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"Right. Because that makes it so much better." My stomach knots with each passing mile.

"You want details or you want plausible deniability?" Alex asks, weaving between cars on the highway.

"I want to know we're not about to steal a plane that will get us shot down by the Air Force." The trees along the roadside blur into a green smear as we accelerate.

Alex snorts. "Please. Give me some credit. The plane belongs to a gentleman who owes me a favor."

"What kind of favor involves lending out a plane?

"The kind where I kept him out of a federal supermax." Alex glances at me, his expression unreadable. "He runs a legitimate charter business now.”

"That sounds..." I trail off, searching for the right word. "Illegal."

"Extremely." Alex's tone is matter-of-fact. "But it's our only play if we want to get to Martha's Vineyard undetected."

I stare out the window, watching the landscape rush by. Two hours until we're supposed to meet The Collector's people. Two hours until we're either one step closer to Luca or finding out we are walking into a trap. Possibly both.

"You think Vesper's okay?" I ask, changing the subject. Leaving her behind felt wrong, like amputating a limb, but we all knew it was necessary.

"Z and Oscar won't let anything happen to her."

"That's not what I asked."

A muscle ticks in his jaw. "No, she's not okay. She's furious, terrified, and feeling helpless. But she's safer there than with us."

The bluntness of his assessment hits like a physical blow. “You two seem...closer now."

Alex's eyes flick to me briefly before returning to the road. “Looks can be deceiving, Talon. She’s not my biggest fan right now.”

The private airfield appears ahead, a small cluster of hangars and a single runway carved into the countryside. Alex slows as we approach the security gate, rolling down his window.

“Blackwood," he tells the guard, who checks a clipboard before nodding us through with barely a glance.

"That was easy," I mutter as the gate slides open.

"Like I said, legitimate business on paper." Alex navigates toward the furthest hangar, where a sleek Cessna Citation waits on the tarmac, its door already open. A stocky man in coveralls stands beside it, arms crossed.

"That's our ride?" I ask, eyeing the jet skeptically. "Looks small."

"It'll get us there in forty minutes," Alex says, pulling up beside the hangar.

We exit the car, and I grab our duffel from the backseat, containing the weapons we definitely couldn't get through airport security. The stocky man approaches, grinning like a fucking fool.

"Thanks for working with us on such short notice, Maddox." Alex shakes his hand. "Clean like we discussed?"

“Of course.” Maddox tosses him a set of keys. "She's fueled up and ready to go. Return whenever, just let me know when you're inbound."

"Appreciate it." Alex pockets the keys, then tosses Maddox an envelope that I suspect contains more cash than most people make in a month. Maddox thumbs through the envelope, his expression unchanging as he counts the bills. He gestures toward the plane. "She's all yours.”

"You sure you know how to fly this thing?"

Alex shoots me a look that could curdle milk. “Stop asking me that."

"Just making sure," I mutter, ducking through the cabin door. The interior is luxurious but compact with cream leather seats, polished wood accents, and a small bar area that's been stocked with top-shelf liquor. "Nice. Your friend Maddox has good taste." I finger through the bottles, selecting a particularly expensive Brandy. If we make it through this alive, this will be the first one I open.

"He caters to clients with expensive needs and deep pockets," Alex replies, stowing our bag in a compartment before sliding into the pilot's seat. "Buckle up. Pre-flight checks take about ten minutes."

I settle into the co-pilot’s seat, watching Alex move through the pre-flight checks with calm precision. Each switch flipped, each gauge scanned, carries the same quiet control he shows when hacking or handling a weapon. He is methodical, focused, and leaving no room for error.