Chapter Content
"I am the great Adair Reed," the frail man said, his voice a hoarse, proud declaration. He let out a strange, cackling laugh that was cut short by a fit of coughing. The constables held him firmly, guiding him toward a waiting vehicle.
Prescott watched them go, a deep sadness in his eyes. He stood with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slumped slightly. The chaotic energy of the moment had faded, leaving a strange quiet in its place.
"How is he still alive?" Delia asked, her voice a shocked whisper as she came to stand beside Prescott. "The stories all said he was dead."
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