Tom McCarthy’s POV
“Get me a car,” I said the moment I stepped out of the airport, my voice rough from lack of sleep and too many thoughts I hadn’t sorted out.
“Yes, sir,” my assistant replied quickly through the phone.
I ended the call and stood there for a second longer than I needed to, staring at the chaos of New York like it might stare back and explain itself.
It didn’t. It just moved loud, fast and completely unbothered. Like nothing had changed. But everything had.
I got into the car without another word, leaning back as the door shut behind me. The city rushed past the window, familiar in a way I didn’t like. Too many memories tied to these streets. Too many things I had walked away from thinking I’d never have to deal with again.
I let out a slow breath, rubbing my temple.
