Ethan's footsteps, usually quiet, now sounded commanding to Clara's ears, while Martha Thorne was still busy praising the police for catching a criminal, unaware that the man she called trash held the entire city's throat in his hand. At the end of the street, the convoy of black limousines appeared again, turning around, waiting for instructions from the Sovereign who was still pretending to hold a broom. The warm afternoon air drifted into Clara's car, but the silence inside was far colder than the gentle hum of the air conditioner. Clara gripped the steering wheel tight, glancing at Ethan, who sat casually in the passenger seat as if the morning's news was nothing more than a passing breeze. "Ethan, about Leo Brando..." Clara finally spoke, breaking the suffocating silence. "That's not
