Boris is dead.
Killed by his colleague of several years, Karelinna.
Blood and brain matter splattered across the back of the chair and the wall through the bullet hole.
His expression was calm, not even a hint of struggle.
Spires know well that their line of work involves too much danger; there's no retirement for them, and everyone will face this day eventually.
Like Solomon Lid all those years ago, and now him; that seems to be the norm.
The gun slipped from Karelinna's limp hand, dropping to the ground as she bowed her head.
"Satisfied now...?"
Sad?
No.
Even though she knew Boris wouldn't yield to enemies given his personality, if Soviet Petrochemical had ordered him to kill her, he would have shown no mercy.
He was acutely aware of his role as a tool.
"Satisfied?"
Lin Miao, who had recorded the entire process through the camera, couldn't quite say he was satisfied.
