The arrivals hall of Pittsburgh International Airport.
The automatic doors slid open, and a cold gust of wind carrying the unique smell of Pittsburgh's industrial smog rushed in.
To an outsider, the smell might be pungent, even dirty.
But to Leo Wallace, it was the scent his lungs craved most.
It was the smell of home.
He had been in the political meat grinder of Washington for less than twenty-four hours, yet it felt like a century.
There, he had gambled his entire political career and the future of Pittsburgh.
In the end, he won.
It had been a heart-pounding victory, and a cold sweat still clung to his back, but he had indeed walked out of there alive, ticket in hand.
It was afternoon, and the airport terminal was bustling with people, but he spotted the group in an instant.
They stood outside the arrivals gate railing, their faces a mixture of anxiety, anticipation, and a fear of confronting the truth.
