The Gulfstream G650 didn't belong to the Sterling Group. It didn't have the "Aegis" logo or the polished mahogany interior of the corporate fleet. This was a "Ghost Plane," a sleek, matte-black bird registered to a shell company in the Caymans—the last of Reid's hidden assets that even Eleanor hadn't been able to touch.
As we leveled out at forty thousand feet over the Pacific, the cabin was silent, save for the low, rhythmic hum of the twin engines. Outside the thick, pressurized glass, the stars looked like cold diamonds scattered across velvet.
Inside, the air was thick with something else entirely.
I sat in the oversized leather seat, my knees pulled to my chest, staring at the coordinates on my phone. The Nursery. The name sounded like a sanctuary, but in the mouth of Adriana, it felt like a threat.
"You haven't touched your water, Maya."
