OSWALD stood before the massive floor-length mirror in his dimly lit bedroom, straightening the crisp cuffs of his shirt. The silence of the room was broken only by the faint clink of his cufflinks and the occasional rustle of fabric as he adjusted his suit jacket. There was no Nathan by his side to ensure the collar sat perfectly or to brush invisible lint off his shoulders, ‘thanks to Carlson,’ he thought bitterly, his jaw tightening for a second.

He hissed under his breath, brushing a hand through his hair to smooth it back. He didn’t like doing mundane things himself, but there was no room for annoyance now, not...