Rafael stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of his office, watching the city stretch beneath him like a restless organism. Neon signs blinked even in daylight, traffic moved in impatient veins, and somewhere down there, life continued as if nothing had been destroyed—or saved—by the wars they had fought.

His office was almost empty now.

The bookshelves that once held contracts, foreign law journals, and carefully curated trophies were bare. Boxes lined the walls, labeled in a neat, detached handwriting. Everything he had built here was being dismantled with surgical precision, just like the plans he used to make.

This was his last morning.

The decision had not been sudden. It...