The driver opened the rear door for us.

I slid into the leather seat, the cold air conditioning chilling my bare arms.

Adrian got in beside me, his presence filling the quiet cabin.

The drive north to Lake Forest was silent.

We drove past the gray suburbs, the tires humming against the wet asphalt.

I watched the windshield wipers sweep back and forth, clearing the heavy raindrops.

Adrian was typing on his phone, the green light from the screen illuminating his sharp profile.

He looked completely calm, while my hands still felt ice cold.

I watched the gray waters of Lake Michigan appear and disappear behind the trees as we drove along Sheridan Road.

The estate was surrounded by a high stone wall topped with wrought-iron fencing.

Two security guards in dark suits stood at the iron gates, checking the vehicle before letting us through.

The tires crunched on the wet gravel driveway as we approached the main house.

It was a massive Tudor-style mansion built of dark stone and heavy timber.

Inside, the air smelled of woodsmoke and old wax.