Kline POV
I don’t bother to return home that night. In the dead of night, I won’t be here anyway.
It doesn’t take long for the limo to pull up to the edge of the border, along the only road that leads in or out of the vast lands of the Ganymede pack.
The air is wet with an upcoming storm.
Stopping in front of me, the door opens and I climb in.
“You look ravishing.”
Under a wide brim hat, Soleil Harris raises her eyes to me, blinking slowly. They glow bright against the dark surrounding us.
“You weren’t followed?” she asks.
“I’m not an amateur. You worry too much.”
She hums in return, tapping a knuckle against the partition. The driver returns to the road.
Soleil removes her hat, sitting it to the side. I imagine she wants to pull out a cigarette, but her structured upbringing would have ingrained that tobacco leaves a lingering odor in the fabric, and anything less than perfect was unacceptable.