In the Mayor's Office on the third floor of Pittsburgh City Hall, the central air was blasting heat at full power.
Hot air roared from the vents, trying to fill every corner of the spacious room.
It was warm enough to wear just a thin shirt.
But Leo Wallace was bundled in a heavy wool coat, sunk deep into a large leather chair.
He was holding a mug with the words "Pittsburgh Renaissance" printed on it, steam curling gently from its rim.
Even so, his body still trembled uncontrollably.
Late last night, after the talk filled with deals and betrayals at the Allegany Mountain Summit Club, he had refused Ethan's company and the comfortable Lincoln sedan.
He had walked down the mountain alone.
A five-kilometer mountain road. A biting, cold wind.
He needed that bone-chilling cold.
He needed that physical pain to numb the phantom ache left where a piece of his conscience had been carved out.
