The cars left like a royal procession.

Black, polished and silent.

Three sedans pulled from the curb, guards in dark suits closing the doors with military precision. The lead car bore the Bellandi crest — a silver falcon on midnight blue — barely visible, but known to those who mattered.

Soren stood at the window of his office, hands in his pockets, watching them go.

Not with relief or defiance but with stillness.

Like a storm had passed through, and he was the only one who remained ...