[center][h3][color=91AABA]E D W A R D[/color][/h3][/center]

[sup][b]Blackstone Tower Penthouse, 27th Floor
January 24, 2026; 2:35 AM[/b][/sup][hr]
Edward stood on the balcony of the penthouse, the frigid bite of the night air raising goosebumps in his skin. Leaning on the rail, he watched the glittering skyline of lights among the monolithic skyscrapers that surrounded Blackstone Tower. A cigarette rested lazily between his lips, smoke mixing with puffs of heated breath. His thumb slid over the screen on his phone, as if attempting to fish a notification to its unlit surface. In the twilight of the evening-turned-morning, Edward found himself unable to sleep, his bed instead taken up by a shirtless woman whose name he didn't care to memorize. Hours prior, he had his fill of skin and physical sensation. The pleasure had still yet to arrive.

He had been waiting for the confirmation for so long. Edward suddenly found himself pacing back and forth across the smooth stone floor of the balcony, slowly increasing the length of the cherry on his cigarette. In his mind, he mulled over the conversations from days ago, the planning, the pieces of everything that he'd hoped fell into place without failure. How long was it going to take? Edward was no stranger to being patient—it was something nearly beaten into him as a child—but for something of this magnitude, the anxiety was difficult to handle. If it didn't all go according to plan, he'd lose everything he worked for, and that's not something he would allow, not after all the money he had to spend.

And then, [i]ding.[/i]

Edward looked down at his phone, the screen illuminating to show a notification. [i]New message. Unlock to view.[/i] He swiped across the screen, input the unlock code, and slowly pulled down the notification screen. What met his gaze were five words from an unknown sender and, as he read them once, twice, five and six and seven times over, a smile slid across his face.

[center][color=FC4242][i]"It's done.
Send the money."[/i][/color][/center]


[sup][b]Blackstone Manor
January 29, 2026; 11:09 AM[/b][/sup][hr]
A sleek, black sedan pulled past the gate that closed Blackstone Manor off from the rest of civilization. In the backseat, watching through the window as century-old conifers crawled past, Edward sat, dressed sharply in a suit in almost the exact same of shade of black. A pair of shades concealed his vacant stare, and he was lost in thought. The past five days had been quite the whirlwind. His father's death, this early in that old codger's wretched life, was a variable Edward couldn't predict, and he'd spent most of his life attempting to hone and perfect that skill. It's what made him effective at what he did. Being a supplier required the right amount of prediction, allowed him to exercise his expertise over risk. If there was anything he swore by, it was that there were no second chances, no mistakes. All or nothing.

"Gideon," Edward called the driver up front. Staring into the rear view mirror, he watched as a pair of old, tired eyes flicked up briefly to acknowledge the eldest child's presence in the vehicle.

"Sir?" asked Gideon, the gray hair on the back of his head shifting slightly to the right as he leaned his head. His voice was weak, carrying with it the apathy of age.

"Stop the car. I'll be approaching the manor on foot from here on."

"Are you sure, sir? We will be reaching the courtyard in a few minutes."

"I need time to myself to think, Gideon. Stop the car."

[center]———————[/center]

The last time Edward found himself walking along this trail was after a tense, heated argument with his father. The details were muddy and blurred, but the feeling of resentment hung with him all the same. The bottoms of his checkered sneakers, a stark contrast to the suit, kicked up dust along the dirt path that wound and curved, like a serpent ready to strike, all the way to the towering, gaudy Blackstone Manor. At least the breeze was nice.

Not long after, he found himself in the courtyard, flanked by pine trees that wreathed the asphalt. In the center was a fountain depicting two cherubs, one seemingly saving the other from the absolution of hell. Edward scoffed at the imagery. This misguided metaphor for being a savior—he never believed in it. He lived long enough in this place to know at least that much.

Edward sat on the edge of the fountain, staring at the front door to the manor as he pulled a cigarette from inside his coat pocket. With a strike of a match, he took a drag and sat silently, waiting for the empty courtyard to fill.