Adrian sat on the edge of the king-sized canopy bed, the size of the room pressing in on him. It was a space designed for a prince—or a high-value prisoner. The furniture was heavy, carved from dark, expensive woods that caught the low light. Plush rugs muffled every footstep, and the high ceilings made his own breathing seem small.
The file lay open on the smooth duvet.
Adrian stared at the documents until the words blurred, then he began to calculate, his mind moving with the same speed he had used to survive the East Side. He re-examined every scrap of paper Marrok had provided.
Dates. Employment records. The alias Paul. The fake name the man used Thomas.
