The morning began the way Harrison Blythe expected it to.
Cold, pale light stretched across the courtyard of Meadowbrook Elementary in Portland, and the air carried that quiet, in-between chill—winter not quite gone, spring not yet willing to arrive. Harrison stepped out of the back seat of a dark sedan, already shifting into the version of himself the world recognized.
Composed. Controlled. Successful.
He had flown in just days earlier after months abroad—conferences, negotiations, expansion plans for the rehabilitation clinics that had made his name. The school invitation had been routine: a speech about discipline, responsibility, success. A short appearance. A photograph or two.