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Summary
There he was—Norton Campbell, or rather, Ronald of Ness. The man he thought he’d never see again.
The actor’s face dominated the poster, his left side scarred but displayed boldly, unapologetically. It wasn’t hidden; it wasn’t softened. The scars only sharpened his aura, granting him an audacious, magnetic charm. A Norton he didn’t know—sharp-edged, confident, and untouchable—was alive in that image. The elegant font of "Atropo’s Ropes," seemed almost secondary to the intensity of the figure it framed.
Naib’s breath hitched. Norton’s eyes seemed to pierce through the glossy surface, meeting his own with a mocking intimacy. His lips, curled into a faint smile, seemed to say, I’m here. Come back to me, Naib Subedar. I’m right here.