THE REBORN ALLIANCEThe sun finally broke through the heavy New York cloud cover at exactly seven in the morning, casting a pale, winter-thin light across the manicured lawns of the Westchester estate. The storm had passed, leaving the air crisp, clean, and smelling of damp earth and river brack.Celeste stood on the grand stone terrace overlooking the gray, rolling waters of the Hudson River. Her hands were wrapped tightly around a steaming cup of black coffee, using the heat to thaw the deep, bone-deep chill that had settled in her joints over the last twelve hours. She had finally washed the dried blood from her skin, scrubbing until her flesh was raw, and changed into a soft, dark silk robe. Yet, the phantom weight of the Glock on her thigh still lingered like a physical brand. Every time the wind rustled the maples down by the water, her muscles locked, expecting the sharp *crack* of a sniper's rifle.
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