The next morning in Vespera carried an uneasy calm, the kind that felt too quiet for a city that thrived on noise and control.
Rowan Mordecai stepped out of his mansion, his posture rigid, his mind still disturbed from the events of the previous day. The image of Kyle on the television had not left him. It lingered, replaying again and again, refusing to fade.
He walked toward his car and opened the door without much thought.
As he settled into the back seat, his eyes lifted toward the front.
For a brief second, something felt off.
The man sitting behind the wheel was not his usual driver.
Rowan frowned.
"Where is my driver?"
The man adjusted the mirror slightly before answering in a respectful tone.
"Sir, he is not well today. I will be driving you."
Rowan studied him carefully.
"Can you drive?"
The man nodded without hesitation.
"I used to work as a driver before, sir."
Rowan leaned back slowly.
"Alright."
His voice carried a hint of impatience.
