THOR
Ingrid Bernard.
The name tasted sour and sounded devilish no matter how hard I tried to be rational about it. I weighed it in my mind, turned it over, tested it against logic and facts, but it refused to settle.
Could she truly be behind this?
The last time I checked, Ingrid Bernard was dead.
I had orchestrated it myself, watched the process from start to finish, and signed off on the confirmation. I had ensured there were no loose ends and no room for resurrection, talk less of whispers of survival. Her death had been clean and final; as she deserved.
Yet, Woodhound was bleeding. The borders had been breached with mastery, records were altered and rogues moved like they had a map of my territory engraved into their bones.
It definitely wasn’t coincidence. It was all a big plan
