Roman Rhodes's words were equivocal, yet laden with meaning.
It was a common affliction among the powerful, this habit of obscuring the point when they spoke.
Stella Sterling couldn't make heads or tails of it. Watching the man across from her take a call, she decided to just let things be.
'Whatever.'
After dinner, it was just past six-thirty.
Vast stretches of fiery clouds dyed the sky.
Stella Sterling and Roman Rhodes walked out of the restaurant, one after the other.
The weekend streets were bustling with people.
As they passed a small garden on the restaurant's periphery, two butterflies danced in the air.
Stella's attention was caught for a moment, and she failed to watch where she was going.
A sudden weight fell on her shoulder, and from behind came the man's low voice. "Careful. Watch the road."
In a flash, a swift shape zipped past right in front of her.
It was a cyclist wearing protective gear.
