The midnight lights of Manhattan glittered like a sea of restless stars cast upon the earth. The neon glow from towering billboards painted the streets in fleeting hues of crimson and blue, shimmering against the polished surface of Harold's black Range Rover as it prowled through the avenues. His hands gripped the steering wheel too tightly, knuckles pale, as though the very act of driving steadied the unease crawling beneath his skin.
The vehicle hummed along the asphalt, its engine purring low and smooth, until it left behind the buzz of the crowded main streets and turned onto quieter roads. Ahead, Rogers' estate loomed in the distance—an ominous silhouette against the midnight canvas. The mansion was bathed in pale pools of light from mounted lamps, shadows gathering thick and restless between the trimmed hedges. The very air around the property seemed to vibrate with tension, as though the house itself was holding its breath.
