The rain hammered down in relentless sheets, turning the streets of Stonebridge into glistening black mirrors under the sodium lamps. It was well past midnight, and the city felt abandoned—empty sidewalks, the occasional whoosh of a distant car, and nothing else but the steady drumbeat on Ambrose Ward’s windshield.
Inside the Mercedes, the heater hummed softly, fighting back the chill that seeped through the glass. Ambrose had just dropped Amy Bell off after another carefully chaperoned dinner at her family’s sprawling estate on the western edge of the city. The evening had gone smoothly enough: polite conversation, subtle probes from Donovan Bell about Ambrose’s long-term plans, and the inevitable moment when the conversation circled back to the future.
“They’re well matched,” Donovan h
