THE evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a dim orange hue across the mansion’s marbled floors. Silence hung in the air as the gate clicked shut behind Oswald’s car. He stepped out, his presence commanding as always, still dressed in his dark tailored suit. His face was unreadable, cold as stone, yet something flickered faintly beneath, something only the observant might detect: a hint of hope. He was alone today, there was no Nathan.

He stepped inside the house and dropped his car key into the porcelain tray on the console table. Just as he was about to ascend the stairs, a quiet voice from behind made him halt...