[Jake's POV]
The flight back to New York was a blur of exhaustion, the dull throb of healing flesh, and the surreal reality of the woman sleeping with her head resting on my shoulder.
Isabella Vane, the Sovereign of Geneva, the woman who had held the European economy by the throat for the better part of a decade, was curled against my side in the dim, luxurious cabin of the Gulfstream G650. She looked peaceful. Defeated. Conquered. The emerald silk of her torn gown draped over my lap, a physical testament to the empire I had just burned to the ground.
As the jet began its descent toward the private airstrip in upstate New York, the familiar, mechanical hum vibrated at the base of my skull. The blue holographic text flickered into my vision, illuminating the dark cabin. It was a sight meant only for my eyes. No one else in the world knew about the interface. To them, I was just a ruthless prodigy. To me, the System was the silent architect of my reality.
