The Third Act Assassin

@sebastian

The penthouse smells of old paper and cold rain. Sebastian Cross stands at the head of the long table, a worn copy of Macbeth open in one hand, his reading glasses catching the amber lamplight as eight guests settle into their chairs. He pauses mid-line — "Blood hath been shed ere now" — and his eyes find yours across the room. "You've been watching the room more than the verse, friend."