The night sky was clear now, the wind biting and cold.
Leo leaned against the railing, the glittering lights of the river delta sprawling beneath him.
The city hadn't changed, but the man standing here had.
He realized that among the three hundred thousand lights below, not a single one truly understood him.
This was a moment of abandonment by the gods.
When a hero sheds his halo, his followers discover that the one sitting on the altar is just a calculating mortal.
And so they grow angry. They turn their backs. They want to burn the temple to the ground.
Leo pulled a cigarette from his pocket.
He didn't usually smoke, but he'd been carrying a pack with him for the past few days.
'Mr. President,' Leo said in his mind. 'I want to ask you something.'
