The alley reeked of stale beer and desperation. Rain slicked the brick walls, reflecting the neon glow of the diner across the street in distorted shimmers. Ethan leaned against a damp dumpster, the chill seeping into his bones, both literally and figuratively. He'd just left a tense meeting with Sarah, his childhood friend, now a reluctant adversary within the Watchers. She'd confirmed his suspicions: they were closing in.

But it wasn't just the tactical information, the detailing of their strategies, that rattled him. It was the… tone. The underlying current of pity, bordering on fear, she'd projected. It was in the way she avoided eye contact, the hurried cadence of her speech, the subtle flinch when Chronos pulsed within him, a feeling like a phantom limb twitching.

Sarah hadn’t come alone, though only she directly approached him. Two figures remained in the shadows, their faces obscured by the gloom, but Ethan knew they were there. Watchers. Always watching. And what were they watching for? The flicker of madness? The subtle shift from Ethan Hayes to the puppet of a fallen god?