Violet Ross watched the scene unfold with a mounting sense of awe, her earlier confusion replaced by a profound, clinical respect for the man standing beside her. She had spent years navigating the labyrinthine halls of the Midlands Provincial Council, but she had never seen anyone—especially someone so young—possess such a "hawk's gaze." Ambrose Ward didn’t just see the surface; he saw the invisible threads of power and the rot hidden beneath the "window dressing." If he hadn't forced her to look at those soft, pampered hands, she might have spent the entire week being monitored by these "ghosts" without ever realizing the perimeter had been breached.
"I’m finished here," the fruit vendor hissed, his eyes darting frantically toward the darkened alleyway. "I don't need your money, and I d
