11-13-2025, 05:00 PM
Carter lingered at the threshold of the rooftop bar longer than he meant to, coat half-buttoned, posture immaculate, expression politely unreadable. The space was warm from the heat lamps and the low amber of lights.
The criminals had trickled up in twos and threes, already loosening collars, already laughing too loudly. Carter joined them like someone who knew he did not belong in such company and had no intention of pretending otherwise. Still, civility was a currency, and the Volthstroms dealt in higher denominations than anyone here.
He passed a cluster of Russians arguing over vodka quality and acknowledged their nods with the faintest incline of his head. A pair of yakuza lieutenants stepped aside when he approached the bar, but Carter accepted the moment as if it were his due. His family had not survived a century of empires, collapses, and financial wars by lowering themselves.
He found Ryker at the far end, looking half-amused, half-bored, like the world had forgotten to impress him.
“Ryker, is it?” he said in his clipped English accent. “Quite an evening.”
He was about to ask Ryker a question when a woman entered. Conversation dipped as heads slowly turned.
He didn’t stare like some gauche peasant, but he watched her with the cool, measured curiosity of a man intrigued by a new addition to the room.
The criminals had trickled up in twos and threes, already loosening collars, already laughing too loudly. Carter joined them like someone who knew he did not belong in such company and had no intention of pretending otherwise. Still, civility was a currency, and the Volthstroms dealt in higher denominations than anyone here.
He passed a cluster of Russians arguing over vodka quality and acknowledged their nods with the faintest incline of his head. A pair of yakuza lieutenants stepped aside when he approached the bar, but Carter accepted the moment as if it were his due. His family had not survived a century of empires, collapses, and financial wars by lowering themselves.
He found Ryker at the far end, looking half-amused, half-bored, like the world had forgotten to impress him.
“Ryker, is it?” he said in his clipped English accent. “Quite an evening.”
He was about to ask Ryker a question when a woman entered. Conversation dipped as heads slowly turned.
He didn’t stare like some gauche peasant, but he watched her with the cool, measured curiosity of a man intrigued by a new addition to the room.