Ambrose Ward did not flinch under the weight of Serena Frost’s gaze. He remained perfectly still, his posture relaxed but commanding, a faint, inscrutable smile playing on his lips. The air in the Joint Task Force Hotel room was thick with the scent of high-stakes negotiation and the sterile, ozone-heavy hum of the air conditioning.
"I’ve been told that before," Ambrose said, his voice a calm, steady baritone that brooked no argument. "My guts have always been quite large, Ms. Frost. In my line of work, fear is a luxury I can't afford. Especially when dealing with the kind of ghosts that haunt the Lakeport Development Zone."
Serena leaned back slightly, her waist swaying as gracefully as a reed in a light breeze—as she adjusted her position on the velvet chair. She studied him with a cli
