At dawn, a hint of light appeared on the horizon.
Inside the hotel room, Jonathan finished his one thousandth push-up, took a shower, changed his clothes, lit a cigarette, and went downstairs, leaving the room.
Six-Winged Angel was dead, and he would leave Slozand.
Just as Jonathan stepped out of the hotel gate, a magnetic voice suddenly called out to him.
"Good morning, sir." Grace, dressed in a white uniform, stood gracefully not far from the hotel's Mercedes.
She had arrived here early in the morning, waiting for more than two hours to finally see this man.
Jonathan took a deep drag of his cigarette, ignoring the woman.
He walked straight to his Maserati, opened the car door, and got into the driver's seat.
Grace quickly approached, standing in front of the Maserati, blocking th
