[Ethan's POV]
The rain in New York was coming down in sheets, slicking the tarmac of the private airfield in a layer of freezing, reflective black.
I stepped out of the town car, pulling the collar of my trench coat up against the biting wind. Fifty yards away, the matte-black Gulfstream G650 sat waiting, its twin Rolls-Royce engines already whining with a low, hungry hum. The Vanguard Holdings crest had been scrubbed from the tail two years ago. To the FAA, this was just an anonymous charter jet owned by a shell company in the Caymans. To me, it was the only lifeline we had left.
I walked up the airstairs, my duffel bag slung over one shoulder. The weight of the Glock 19 holstered at the small of my back was a familiar, comforting pressure. Two years ago, the idea of carrying a loaded firearm would have made me sick to my stomach. Now, I didn't leave my apartment without it.
