Bruce sat on the far side of the back seat, one hand resting on his knee, his profile turned toward the window. The suit he wore was a deep charcoal, tailored to the exact cut of his shoulders. Not a single thread out of place.

The partition was up. The driver had said nothing since helping with the luggage. The world outside was manicured and green, long stretches of hedge and iron gates giving way to the narrow road that wound up toward the main house.

The house itself appeared gradually, century-old stone softened by ivy, with tall windows and a circular drive bordered by white garden roses. Staff were already waiting at the door when the car pulled to a stop.