ELEANOR SINCLAIR I sit at my desk, Marcus's folder open before me.The white pages bleed secrets in black ink like blood from an open gash, and I wonder if I could have been this successful if I had done it on my own. Definitely not.It's not my job. I couldn't do it with so much perfection.Outside my window, the city hums, a never-sleeping thing brewing with life, and I find myself staring again at Thornesby's blurry photograph, his eyes hard and unforgiving. It holds me in so much of a trance that I reach out and trace the outlines of his face with my finger, wishing I could somehow will Vincent's schemes into existence from doing it. The wineglass beside me is half-empty, its contents sour on my tongue, and I find that the taste mirrors the churn in my gut. I'm thinking about power, about revenge, about the intricate web that Vincent has woven around Vieuti to wrap it around his finger-and how I'm going to cut every thread until it is all mine. Poetic justice. Yes, that's the wo
Terakhir Diperbarui : 2025-05-29
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