Jack didn’t answer right away.
He stood in silence beside Sarah, eyes locked on the skyline like he was still listening to the city's pulse. It was peaceful now. But he knew peace in Harmonfield never stayed.
Especially not when power shifted.
“Something’s coming,” Jack said at last.
Sarah looked at him. “Yeah?”
He turned, voice low. “And it’s wearing a suit.”
By the following week, Harmonfield's city banners had changed.
From sirens to silk.
From body counts to business cards.
International investors had landed—six black private jets touching down on Harmonfield’s newly refurbished runway. Cameras caught the delegation stepping onto the tarmac like royalty, flanked by aides and briefcases, foreign tongues mixing with brisk nods and cold calculation.
The leader was Marcus Rothsch
