Two weeks had passed since Ethan vanished into the depths of the Royal headquarters. During those fourteen days, the atmosphere in the North End had reached a breaking point. Without their leader's direct presence, the upper echelons of the organization felt like a body trying to function without a brain. Rumors swirled through the hallways: some said he was ill, others whispered that he had returned to the Arctic in secret, but no one had seen him eat, sleep, or move from his private chambers.
When the heavy blast doors finally hissed open, Ethan stepped out, looking strangely renewed. His skin had a faint, healthy luster, and his purple eyes seemed to hold a depth that wasn't there before. For him, the two weeks of isolation had felt like the blink of an eye.
"Crul, run a full scan. Everything should be in place now," Ethan said.
