The line went dead.
The digital connection dissolved into a harsh, hollow hiss of static, leaving the world in a cold, suffocating silence. But miles away from the chaos of San Francisco, across the state lines where the dark, icy waters of Lake Michigan still held the deepest secrets of the Sovereign's wrath, the story was far from over.
A pristine, imported Cuban cigar cut through the heavy darkness of the room, its tip glowing a lethal, vibrant orange with every slow, deliberate breath I drew.
