"Mr. President, Mr. Churchill is here," Secretary Johnny reported before stepping aside to let Blake in.
The office was already occupied.
And the atmosphere was tense, thick enough to choke on. It felt like no one had dared to breathe too loudly for fear of snapping whatever fragile control still held the room together.
Three high-ranking officials sat around the mahogany desk, their voices dying the moment Blake entered.
The air carried that familiar weight of power, secrets, quiet panic, and decisions that would cost lives.
At the center of it all sat the President.
"Mr. Churchill," he said, barely containing his fury, as he steepled his fingers. "You took your time."
Blake closed the door behind him with a soft click, his expression calm, almost indifferent.
"I came as soon as I was called," he replied smoothly. "Traffic's unpredictable these days."
A lie and everyone knew it. But no one challenged it.
