24

Katherine Harrington: The jet was absurdly luxurious. At this point, I probably shouldn’t have been surprised anymore, but apparently Tyrant Luciano Zarkov didn’t believe in moderation. The cabin looked less like transportation and more like a private penthouse forced into the sky—cream leather seats, polished black tables, gold accents, dim amber lighting, and an entire dining section behind us that probably cost more than my old apartment building. Not that I remembered my old apartment building. But emotionally, I felt correct. Outside the massive windows, clouds stretched endlessly beneath us while the rest of Blackthorn disappeared farther and farther into the distance. Good. Very good. I had no interest in returning there anytime soon. Across from me, Luciano had been starin