Snow fell quietly across the city of Ottawa.
It drifted in slow, deliberate flakes beneath the pale glow of streetlamps, settling upon rooftops, sidewalks, and the dark cars that moved through the capital's quiet avenues.
Winter had come early that year, and the cold had settled firmly over the Canadian capital like an unwelcome guest that had decided it would not soon leave.
For the residents of the city, it was simply another evening. For the men arriving in black government motorcars, it was something else entirely.
The convoy pulled to a halt outside the stone façade of Parliament Hill. Engines idled softly as uniformed Canadian guards opened the doors and the passengers stepped out one by one.
The men wore heavy overcoats against the cold, their breath visible in the frozen air as they climbed the long staircase toward the building's entrance.
Once, these men had represented the most powerful nations on Earth.
Tonight they gathered as guests.
