The evening before the Lunar New Year had just passed. At five in the morning, Imperial City was cold enough to make icicles fall from the sky. Richard Shaw was forced to crawl out of his warm bed and head to the airport to pick someone up.
The driver was Richard Shaw's former personal soldier from his early years, a young man who remained stoic through life-and-death situations. After picking up the fully able-bodied Ignatius Leclair, he couldn't help but grumble inwardly—why didn't he just take a private plane and land directly at the cabin in the outskirts? Major General's mobility wasn't great to begin with, and this back-and-forth airport run was going to eat up two or three hours.
The young man cranked the car heater to full blast, thinking that by the time they returned, the young master would already be up. He might as well bring back some breakfast along the way.
