Ambrose Ward stood by the window of his apartment, the cool night breeze carrying the scent of pine and distant rain. He looked at his phone, a faint, mocking smile playing on his lips.
So, I’m the 'chief' now? he mused.
The transition was as fascinating as it was inevitable. Only forty-eight hours ago, he was the shadow, the man who smoothed the path for Lynn Graves. Now, she was the one asking for an audience, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and a strange, desperate reverence. She wasn't just coming to "report work"; she was coming to offer a blood pledge of loyalty to the new power in the province.
He thought of the old saying—the one about the "deepest channel" to a woman’s heart. In the world of the inner sanctum, the path to loyalty was often paved with the same primitive b
