Alaric
The private jet touched down smoothly on the Bahrain International Circuit runway at exactly 9:37 p.m. on Thursday night.
The moment the cabin door opened, the desert air rushed in and wrapped around me instantly, clinging to my skin even as the cool air conditioning from the jet fought to hold it back.
Lights from the terminal stretched across the tarmac in long golden lines, reflecting off the dark asphalt.
I let out a groan as I descended the stairs with my bag slung over one shoulder, and once I reached the bottom of the stairs where Dorothy, my manager, was already waiting, I let out another groan and stretched my limbs.
