The chill of the pre-dawn air did little to cool the feverish anticipation burning within Byron. He sat in his carriage, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels on the uneven track a counterpoint to the frantic thrumming of his own heart. Beside him was Elias.
Byron meticulously reloaded his dueling pistol, the metallic clicks sharp and precise in the dim interior. Each movement was deliberate, a ritual before the hunt.
"Is the carriage making good time, Elias?" Byron asked, his voice a low, controlled hum. "We must reach those damnable ruins before Ryan does. Commander Thorne must not have his little chat with my dear brother. His secrets die with him tonight." Or, if Ryan was already there, both would die. The spy's report had been clear: Ryan was meeting Thorne. Byron intended to intercept that meeting with fatal finality.
Elias, his gaze fixed on the passing darkness outside the carriage window, merely nodded. "We will arrive shortly, My Lord. The driver understands the urgency."
