Santiago stepped out.
Alone.
No pilot. No escort. No guards. Only him.
His coat shifted in the rotor wash as he crossed the strip with long, deliberate strides, as though returning unannounced at night was the most ordinary thing in the world. A few men stationed near the landing zone lowered their heads in respectful silence. Santiago did not stop. Did not greet. Did not explain.
A black sedan waited nearby, engine idling softly. One of the old estate attendants stepped forward, careful, almost cautious in his approach.
Santiago paused only long enough to ask, "Is everyone awake?"
The question was simple. But it carried enough weight to make the attendant straighten slightly.
"Yes, sir."
A brief silence.
Then Santiago asked again, quieter, sharper. "Everyone?"
The attendant understood he did not mean the servants. He meant the house. The family. The people whose presence actually mattered.
"Yes," he answered. "They're all awake."
