Josephine stood in tears clutching a battered wooden rocking horse covered in marker scribbles as Grandfather Robert shoved it toward her, laughing bitterly with Clara that the ruined toy was a perfect match for the little girl.

Deep in the city's holding cells, Silas sat shivering on a rigid steel bench. His designer clothes were ruined, stained with dried blood and melting snow. The thick bandages on his shattered face throbbed with relentless, blinding agony. He stared at the concrete floor, the reality of his twenty-year federal sentence crushing the last remnants of his arrogance. The heavy iron door of the interrogation room swung open. A man in a sharp, immaculate suit stepped inside, carrying a sleek leather briefcase. Silas looked up, a spark of desperate hope flashing in his eyes. "Are you my lawyer?" Silas rasped, his voice nasal and weak. "Did my father send you? Tell me he posted bail!" The man smiled, a terrifying, empty expression that reached nowhere near his eyes. He set the briefcase on the metal table and snapped the latches open. "Your father is currently begging a motel clerk for a delayed checkout," the man said smoothly. "I am not here to represent you, Silas. I am here to deliver a message from your former benefactors." Silas's fair, rosy skin turned completely translucent. "The syndicate... please, I tried! I tried to get the company back!" "You failed," the man said coldly. "And you drew the attention of federal authorities. Our employers do not tolerate loose ends." The man reached into the briefcase, bypassing the stacks of legal documents, and slowly pulled out a sterilized, pre-filled syringe. Silas began to scream.