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We step off, and Damián, the twins, and I form a protective circle around Cillian, walking him toward the waiting golf carts.

“Welcome to your newly upgraded island,” Leif says, opening his arms to gesture across the three-hundred-acre estate. “The entire coastline looks the same, but it’s now a “smart” coast.” He points to the cliffs on our left. “The moment anyone sets a climbing anchor, we get an instant notification. And we can flood that facade with a non-toxic, friction-reducing polymer.”

“A what?” Cillian asks.

“They’ll slide… very slowly, right back into the water.”

“There’s also a fifty-meter perimeter around the island wired with a sonar net,” Björn says, taking over and gesturing back toward the ocean. “Nothing bigger than a large salmon gets within a hundred yards of the coast without us knowing.”

“Cool…”

As we settle into the carts, the staff greets us with water and cold, damp towels to refresh our faces.

I try to wave mine off, but Cillian takes one anyway and passes it to me.

“Just try it.”

I roll my eyes, but I take it, pressing the cold cloth to my face and—oh, holy shit.

I would rather die than admit this out loud, but it feels incredible.

It’s cool, smells faintly of citrus, and feels amazing against my skin.

“Enjoying yourself?” Cillian grins, and I shrug.

“I mean, it’s not torture…” I mutter, and he laughs.

Damn, it’s good to hear him laugh again.

To see him finally relaxed and feeling more like himself.

The staff takes the glasses and towels away, and we set off, driving past a stunning greenhouse made of glass and metal.

“The glass on that greenhouse has been replaced,” Leif says, pointing toward the structure. “It’s now polycarbonate laminate smart-glass that can stop a .50 cal round and turn opaque on command.”

“If anything happens, this is one of the safe locations you’ll need to run to,” I explain, and Cil nods.

The carts pull into the main estate area, and for a second, I feel inadequate.

I have never seen this level of wealth in my life.

The main mansion stands at the center, flanked by four “smaller” mansions that form a square around it.

In between them are pools, three tennis courts, a running track looping around most of the island, two outdoor bars, dozens of lounge areas, torches, and a ridiculous amount of flowers.

And this is just one of their summer places.

Fuck…

I think they only use this entire island for the auction.

Our driver parks in front of the main mansion.

“Thanks, Phil,” Cillian says to the driver, while I take the bags out of the cart.

And that’s a thing I’ve noticed about Cillian: he has a million staff members, but he always knows their names.

“Mr. Reed,” Arthur, Cillian’s great-uncle, comes out of the main door and walks to Logan. “How was the trip?”