Victor Sinclair’s face lit up with a visible, almost predatory satisfaction. He straightened his posture, his chin lifting just a fraction of an inch to emphasize his seniority. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to inhabit the full weight of his Deputy Commissioner rank, casting a paternalistic shadow over the younger man.
“Young man, a little humility is a fine virtue in this line of work,” Victor said, his voice rich with a condescending, practiced warmth. He patted Ambrose on the shoulder—a gesture that was meant to be encouraging but felt more like a brand. “A single setback is nothing to lose sleep over. Remember the old creed: ‘Be humble in victory, and undeterred in defeat.’ You’re still green, Ward. You’ll have plenty of time to sharpen your teeth on easier targets.”
“Quite
