Cold sweat broke out on Alvarez's forehead, and he felt it seep through his shirt as nervous vibrations coursed through his body under the intense scrutiny of the people surrounding him.
It was as if the collective gaze of the world was focused solely on him. His game was up.
He clasped his hands tightly on the table, knuckles pale against the dark surface, while he contemplated his next move, ignoring the pool of shame swelling within him with every passing second under the weight of their disappointed looks.
The detailed report from Ewan lingered in his mind—he knew that only divine intervention could save him now.
"I…" He began, but the words fell flat, failing him like the hope he once had. Everyone in the Nimbus organization was already aware of his illegal operations.
He swallowed painfully, his thoughts drifting to Cecil and Lincoln. They were really in the black cells? The realization struck him hard: he wasn't far from joining them.
