Ethan's hands were buried in his pockets, his knuckles white against the dark fabric.
From the deepest shadow near a broken dumpster, a figure slowly detached itself. He was a man in his late forties named Jason Carter, but he looked closer to sixty. He was disheveled and gaunt, covered in a thin layer of grime and dust, wearing clothes that had been slept in for weeks. He was hunched over, constantly scanning the alley entrance—the epitome of a man running for his life.
"You're Ethan, aren't you?" Jason rasped, his eyes wide and anxious. "You look just like your old man."
"I'm Ethan Blake. Who are you?" Ethan demanded, taking a small, almost imperceptible step back.
"Jason Carter. I was... I am a friend, a colleague, and a business partner of your father's," Jason corrected himself, the anxiety in his voice barely contained. "Listen, I know this looks bad, kid, but you need to know the truth. Vincent Halbert—he's the one who killed your father."
