Neon Snow (The Sentinel Code #3)

Chapter 1 Departures and Dead Air

ONE

DEPARTURES AND DEAD AIR

TROY

The private terminal smelled like expensive leather and the kind of coffee that cost more than most people's weekly grocery budget.

I hated that I noticed. Hated even more that the place was packed with familiar faces when I'd been counting on a quick, clean exit.

Just grab my bag, nod at whoever was on shift, and disappear onto the tarmac before anyone could turn this into a thing.

Too late for that.

Adrian stood near the entrance with his arms crossed, dressed in the same dark suit he probably slept in, looking like he'd been waiting long enough to catalog every security camera angle and exit route twice over.

His expression gave away nothing, but the way his gaze landed on me and held said plenty.

He knew. Of course he fucking knew. The man could read a situation faster than most people could finish a sentence, and I'd been walking around Ravenswood for the past week like a live wire looking for something to ground into.

Luka leaned against a pillar near the windows, all controlled stillness and that particular brand of patience that came from years of watching men fall apart and putting them back together with whatever pieces still worked.

Ash stood beside him, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched.

They were flying out with me, at least as far as New York.

Business, Luka had said. Something about contacts and territory negotiations that needed handling in person.

I didn't ask for details, didn't care. I just needed to get on a plane before the walls at Ravenswood closed in any tighter.

The rest of them had shown up anyway. Viktor and Sebastian stood off to one side, Viktor wearing his public face while Sebastian's hand rested near his hip like he couldn't quite help the contact.

Dom and Cal hovered near the coffee station, radiating the kind of coupled energy that made single people nauseous.

Dmitri sat in one of the leather chairs flipping through his phone, tattoos visible where his sleeves were pushed up, looking bored but ready to move if the situation required it.

Ethan stood near the windows with his hands shoved in his pockets, looking younger than the rest of them and somehow more grounded at the same time.

“Didn't realize I rated a full sendoff,” I said, dropping my bag near the door. My voice came out sharper than I meant it to, irritation bleeding through. “What is this, a retirement party?”

“You wish,” Dom shot back without looking up from his coffee. “Retirement means we don't have to put up with your bullshit anymore.”

“Please. You'd miss me.”

“Like a migraine.”

Cal's mouth twitched. “He would, actually. He complains about you constantly.”

“That's love language,” Dom said flatly. “I don't waste energy complaining about people I don't care about.”

I snorted. “Touching. Really.”

Viktor's voice cut across the space, low and accented. “We have enough drama without you adding to it.”

Sebastian elbowed him. “Be nice.”

“I am being nice. Nice for me is not threatening violence before breakfast.”

“It's eleven in the morning.”

“Still before my breakfast.”

Adrian pushed off the wall and crossed toward me, his footsteps quiet on the polished floor. He stopped a few feet away, close enough to talk without the others hearing, far enough to give me room. The man understood proximity like other people understood breathing.

“You don't have to explain,” he said quietly. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but there was weight behind them. Understanding that sat heavier than judgment. “Just needed to see you off.”

“I'm not leaving for good,” I said. Defensive. Hated how it sounded coming out of my mouth. “Luka made that clear.”

“I know.”

“Then what's with the farewell committee?”

Adrian's expression didn't change, but his gaze softened just slightly. “People care about you, Troy. Whether you like it or not.”

I looked away, stared at the tarmac through the windows where the plane waited. Escape sitting on a runway. “Yeah, well. I didn't ask them to.”

“You never do.” He paused. “Go say your goodbyes. They showed up for a reason.”

I walked over to where the others were clustered, shoulders tight, jaw tighter.

Noah intercepted me first. “Got you something,” he said, holding out a small first aid kit. The good kind, compact but comprehensive.

I took it, turning it over in my hands. “Planning on me getting hurt?”

“Planning on you being prepared if you do. Chicago's a long way from Ravenswood's medical facilities. Just in case.”

“I'll be fine.”

“Humor me.” He smiled, small and genuine. “Besides, knowing you, you'll end up using it on someone else anyway.”

He had a point. I shoved the kit in my bag. “Thanks.”

Noah shifted his weight, hands sliding into his pockets. “Just make sure you actually come back. Adrian gets cranky when people disappear on him.”

“Adrian's always cranky.”

“True. But he's worse when he's worried.” Noah's expression turned more serious. “And he worries about you more than you think.”

Noah reached out and squeezed my shoulder once, brief and careful, before stepping back.

Dmitri glanced up from his phone. “Chicago gets complicated, you call. Don't be a martyr about it.”

“When have I ever been a martyr?”

“You want the list alphabetically or chronologically?”

Cal laughed quietly. “He's got a point.”

I shot him a look. “You're supposed to be on my side.”

“I'm on the side of reality,” Cal said mildly. “Which occasionally conflicts with your version of events.”

Ethan cleared his throat, holding out a small crumpled bag. “Got you this.”

I took it, suspicious. “What is it?”

“Just look.”

Inside was a bag of the specific brand of beef jerky I'd mentioned liking exactly once, three months ago during a stakeout. I stared at it. “How the fuck did you remember this?”

Ethan shrugged. “Called around. Found a place that carries it. Thought you might want a taste of home before you got there.”

I shoved the bag in my pocket, not trusting myself to say anything that wouldn't come out wrong. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, well.” He shifted his weight. “Just don't forget to come back.”

“I won't.”

Adrian appeared at my elbow again, silent as ever. “Plane's ready when you are.”

I nodded. Looked at the group one more time, tried to find words that didn't sound like goodbye even though this wasn't supposed to be one.

“I'll see you,” I said finally. “Couple weeks, maybe a month. Then I'm back.”

“We know,” Adrian said quietly. “Go handle what you need to handle.”

“And Troy?” Luka's voice cut across the terminal, sharp and clear. “Don't do anything I wouldn't do.”

“That leaves me a lot of room,” I shot back.

“Exactly.”

Viktor stepped forward and held out his hand, formal in a way that felt foreign coming from him. I took it. His grip was solid, brief. “Safe travels.”

“You too. When you eventually travel somewhere that isn't a war zone.”

Sebastian laughed. “That's everywhere with him.”

One by one they said their versions of goodbye. Dom clasped my shoulder hard enough to bruise. Cal offered a dry comment about staying out of jail. Ethan hugged me, quick and tight and over before I could tense up about it.

Then there was nothing left but the walk across the tarmac, my bag slung over my shoulder, Luka and Ash falling into step on either side.

The plane waited. Small, private, the kind of luxury I'd gotten used to working for Adrian but still didn't quite feel entitled to. Luka climbed the stairs first, Ash behind him, and I followed, feeling the weight of too many eyes watching my back.

Inside the cabin was all cream leather and polished wood, seats arranged to face each other with a small table between.

Luka and Ash took one side. I dropped into the seat across from them, tossed my bag on the floor, and stared out the window at the terminal growing smaller as we taxied toward the runway.

The engines hummed. The world tilted. And then we were airborne, London falling away beneath us in a patchwork of gray and green and ancient architecture that had survived worse things than my departure.

I waited for relief. For the tension in my shoulders to ease now that I was finally moving, finally doing what I'd been circling around for weeks. It didn't come. Just sat there under my ribs, heavy and familiar, the weight of going home to a place that had never stopped feeling like a wound.

Luka was on his phone within minutes, typing with focused intensity.

Ash had pulled out a book, some thick hardcover that looked dense and complicated, but his attention kept drifting to Luka, checking in without making it obvious.

They'd been together long enough that the small gestures looked automatic.

Ash's hand resting on the armrest between them, close enough that Luka could reach it if he wanted.

The way Luka's posture relaxed incrementally whenever Ash was in his line of sight.

I looked away. Stared at clouds instead.

The flight attendant came by offering drinks. I asked for whiskey. She brought it in a crystal glass that caught the light, amber liquid that burned going down and did fuck all to settle my nerves. I drank it anyway. Signaled for another.

“Pacing yourself?” Ash asked, not looking up from his book.

“Always.”

“Mm.”

Luka set his phone down, leaned back in his seat, and studied me. “You going to tell me what's really happening, or do I have to guess?”

“Nothing's happening. Just need time away.”

“Time away,” Luka repeated. His tone stayed neutral, but his eyes said he wasn't buying it. “From what?”

“Everything.”

“More specific.”

I took another drink, let the burn settle. “Just need to go home for a while. Clear my head. Deal with some shit.”

“What shit?”

“Personal shit.”

“Troy.”

I set the glass down harder than necessary. “I don't know, all right? I just need to be there. Can't explain it better than that.”