We sat comfortably behind the mansion in silence, just staring at the abyss. The morning sun bathed the horizon in hues of amber and rose, softening the shadows that clung to the sprawling mansion behind us. Wwe stood up, the gravel crunched beneath our feet as Tabayoyong, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, broke the silence.
"Anyways. Do you really have emerald eyes?" he asked, his voice calm and even, his expression unreadable under the play of light.
"Yep," I replied curtly, glancing at him. The way he carried himself—nonchalant but hyper-aware—always left me guessing whether he was observing or simply uninterested.
"Foreign blood?" he followed up without missing a beat.
"Don't know. I have no idea who my parents are," I said, keeping my tone neutral.
"Cool," he said with a small nod, as if I'd just shared something mundane like the weather. "They sure missed out."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of my lips, but it faded as quickly as it appeared. "For now, we have to talk our way to the kid."
The mansion loomed closer, its shadow stretching over us like a giant sentinel. As we entered, our footsteps softened, becoming deliberate and soundless. The air inside was colder, still carrying the weight of the night. Inside our home, Tabayoyong moved with the effortless grace of a predator, and I followed suit, navigating through the second floor where everyone's rooms were clustered together.
Stopping at Elijah's door, I tested the handle. Locked.
"Excuse me, darling," Tabayoyong whispered, his breath barely audible. I stepped aside, and he crouched down, pulling a thin pin from his sleeve. The lock gave a soft click as the door eased open.
Inside, the room was dark, save for the faint glow of a digital clock above Elijah's bed. The teenager lay sprawled on his mattress, his face serene but with a slight furrow in his brow, as though he were solving a problem even in his dreams.
The overhead lights flickered on with a sharp hum, and Elijah flinched, scrunching his face against the sudden brightness. His eyes fluttered open, blinking rapidly to adjust.
"Am I dreaming, or what?" he mumbled, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. His voice was groggy, but his mind was already clicking into gear as he looked at the two figures standing by his bed. "No, I'm not."
"Good morning, Elijah," I greeted, crossing my arms.
"Morning? What time is it, Ms. Heart?" he asked, his voice still heavy with sleep.
I glanced at the clock. "Four a.m."
"What do you guys need?"
"Can you hack the CCTVs at the airport tomorrow? Let us pass through?" I asked directly.
Elijah frowned, his brain catching up to the request. "What?"
"Remember the five private jets? I let Jazz handle them..."
His eyes widened in recognition. "Oh—right." He yawned, sitting up straighter. "My boss linked them to my system. He knew you wouldn't be able to manage them."
"Ouch," I muttered, half-amused.
"Hold on," he said, grabbing his laptop. With deft fingers, he typed a series of commands, the glow of the screen casting shadows across his sharp features. A global map appeared, marking the exact locations of the jets.
