The car ride was quiet, but not peaceful.
Trevor sat in the backseat of the matte black town car, one arm slung loosely along the leather backrest, the other thumbing through reports on his tablet with detached precision. His meetings had ended two hours late. Half the ministers were incompetent, the other half manipulative, and only one of them had managed to piss him off enough to earn an audit.
He closed the tablet with a soft snap and looked out the tinted window. The sky was dimming, the golden flush of late afternoon melting into soft blue haze as the city lights of Saha flickered to life.
"ETA?" he asked, voice sharp enough to cut through the driver's silence.
"Four minutes, sir."
He didn't respond. Just adjusted the cuff of his suit jacket and checked the silver watch on his wrist. Lucas should've finished lunch with his grandmother by now. He'd expected a message. A sarcastic comment. A dramatic plea for rescue. Something.
But there was nothing.
