[Jake's POV]
The air inside the house was cold.
AC. It hit my skin the second the glass door hissed open and raised goosebumps under my suit. The living room smelled faintly of jasmine and clean wood. Minimalist. White leather. Dark wood floors. Nothing out of place.
Mei-Ling Zhao stood two feet away from me.
The silver-plated revolver was still in her hand. It wasn't shaking. Her arm was steady. Her eyes were locked on my chest, then flicked up to my face.
Outside, the sound of tires on asphalt. Then metal on metal. A crash. Distant, but it echoed up through the hills.
Her head didn't turn.
"The perimeter alarms didn't sound," she said. Her voice was muffled through the glass a second ago, but now it was clear. Perfect English. No accent. Flat. Controlled. "My guards haven't reported a breach. Who are you?"
