The sunrise over Manhattan didn't bring the usual golden warmth; it was a bruised purple and grey, reflecting the wounded city below. Inside The Obsidian, the shattered glass had been swept away by a silent, efficient cleaning crew, and the scent of gunpowder had been replaced by the sterile, sharp aroma of expensive floor wax and ozone.
I stood on the balcony, the wind whipping my hair across my face. I was wearing one of Rosw’s white dress shirts, the silk oversized and cool against my skin, reaching mid-thigh. My feet were bare against the cold stone. I looked down at my hand. The ring was still there, the diamond catching the first weak rays of light. It felt heavier now, not like a shackle, but like a weapon I finally knew how to aim.
"The doctors said you should be sedated for at l
