The late afternoon sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long, distorted shadows across the sprawling manicured lawns of the Santoso estate. The frantic, chaotic energy of the morning had distilled into a tense, thrumming anticipation. The grand mansion was fully primed for Tn. Herman’s sixtieth birthday banquet. The catering staff were in their crisp black uniforms, the string quartet was tuning their instruments in the corner of the ballroom, and the scent of expensive perfume and roasted truffles permeated the air.
Adrian Voss, having successfully completed his grueling stint as the family’s pack mule, navigated the labyrinthine service corridors toward the western wing. His white shirt was clinging to his skin, damp with sweat, and a fine layer of dust coated his dark trousers.
