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Late at night, feeling rather pleased with himself, Sindison had barely fallen asleep when an urgent knocking on the door jolted him awake.
Grumbling, he grabbed his glasses from the bedside table, shoved them on, and stomped toward the entrance, irritation boiling over. “What the hell are you knocking for?! What time do you think it is?! Can’t this wait until morning, for fuck’s sake?!”
At that moment, Sindison had no idea how serious things really were, he hadn’t even imagined it might concern him.
News of the printing factory fire hadn’t reached the hotel yet, and the subordinates who had joined the march hadn’t come back to report.
Even if he had heard about it, he might’ve panicked a little, but only a little.
After all, it wasn’t him who’d bribed the factory staff or smuggled the papers. His men had handled all of that. He had only been the man behind the curtain. There were a few meetings and some instructions, but nothing traceable to him.
Surely the New Alliance’s administrator...
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