The secured conference hall felt colder than the hospital room. Nathan was still sitting across from Ethan at the long table, with the the bandages on his left shoulder still pulling uncomfortably with every small movement that he made with his muscles or joints. The pain was constant, but he ignored it. The room was still as empty as it was in the first place, except for the two of them, as all security personnel that could have been there, were still outside, as ordered by Nathan’s insistence.Ethan sat with his head bowed, and his wrists still in handcuffs, with the orange jumpsuit he had on him, making him look smaller than Nathan remembered. As though he was some kid playing dress up.Nathan sat up abruptly, ignoring the sharp stab in his shoulder. Ethan's eyes followed him up to where he stood. “You are bitter,” he said quietly. “And if you can’t get yourself out of the bitterness you feel right now, you will regret everything.”Ethan stayed silent, he moved his gaze from Nathan

The next morning, Nathan sat in the Cloven executive conference room with David Brune, reviewing the latest Kickstart applicant numbers. The mood was calm, with the serene that the office pervaded. And it would have remained so."Is your wound better?" Brune asked, watching at Nathan's shoulders warily. Nathan placed a hand over the shoulder that was shot. "You don't have to think about it too much" he said coldly. "I am better now. That's all you need to know."The silence between them stretched across a long time, a dreadfully long time, atleast from Brune's perspective, atleast until his tablet lit up with breaking news alerts and his eyes widened as he gazed at the screen.“You need to see this," he said, taking the tablet off the glass table and turning the screen toward Nathan.A sleek press conference was playing live. Michael and Melody Lee stood on stage beside their parents, with a large banner behind them reading “Helping Hand – Lifting Communities Together.”Mr. Lee spoke

Nathan walked through the ESU quad with his head down, thinking with the pain on his left arm on a continuous throb, the sling on his left arm was still a constant reminder of the bullet wounds that still ached. The morning sun felt too bright for him, the chatter of students too loud. Everything seemed to strange to him as his view seemed almost tunnel like as he walked. Everywhere he looked, phones were out, and people were whispering, glancing at him, and then quickly looking away.The accusations from Dr. Elias Hawthorne had spread like wildfire overnight, engulfing everything it touched and making them into a ashy fingers of accusation.He got tired of walking around. He would not be having lectures that day any sooner, but he couldn't leave and go the office because he couldn't trust anyone there. He avoided his home because he did not want his feelings encroaching into his grandmother and Rhea. But what was worse was that he could not stay in him room too. The loneliness was de

Matthew Steel sat alone in his penthouse office overlooking the Manhattan skyline, with a half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand as he paused to stare at a bird gliding by. He had forgotten it's name. It looked like a pidgin, but flew in ways that made it appear to be an eagle, a very small eagle. "Is that a... falcon?" He asked, his own voice sounded strange, reeking of betrayal as well. It terrified him as he spoke, and almost immediately he began to regret ever speaking in the first place.The city lights blurred through the floor-to-ceiling windows as bits of rain began streaking the glass. On his laptop screen was the latest Hawthorne thread, the one he had personally fed the author with carefully selected documents.He took a slow sip of the whiskey, the burn from it doing nothing to dull the raging storm that was causing havoc inside him._Why am I doing this?_ He asked in his mind.The question, that very same question, had haunted him for weeks, growing louder with every

It was early morning. The sky was still dark, with only a few protruding golden rays shooting from the east side of the horizon, when Dr. Elias Hawthorne paced around the corridor of his house, phone pressed tightly to his ear. Sweat glistened on his brows despite the cool air, with his silk robe hanging loosely over his shoulders, proving just how stressed he was. The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked loudly, each second reminding him how close the live interview was.He was speaking in a hushed and urgent tone, with his voice still echoing in the empty house. “Matthew, listen to me," he said. "Send the last documents as soon as possible, if not now. I will need everything if I’m going to bury him completely. The interview is in a few hours, and you know that. This is our chance to end the Pauper King myth once and for all. Remember that?On the other end of the line, Matthew Steel’s voice was steady but cold.“I can’t do that, Elias. I’m done with this."Hawthorne stopped pa