Suffox Estate – Early Morning
The dawn came reluctant, a grey light spilling over the frost-dusted lawns of the Suffox estate. Inside, the air smelled faintly of ink, smoke, and iron — the scent of quiet war.
Charlton Daniel stood by the window of his study, coat draped loosely over his shoulders, a hand resting against the cold glass. The fields beyond were still veiled in mist, the world outside looking deceptively calm.
Behind him, the crackle of the fireplace broke the silence, along with the faint rustle of papers — the only sound from the man seated at his desk.
The visitor was small in stature, older, his grey hair slicked back with bureaucratic neatness. His name was Mr. Alder, a senior clerk from the Treasury who had survived three governments by the virtue of being useful and knowing when to keep his mouth shut.
