Nestled in the rolling hills of upstate New York, about four hours from the city by flight, the small rural town of Ithaca held more silence than stories. It was the kind of place where the trees whispered louder than the people, and everyone knew everyone else. The house his men had traced was on the edge of the woods—weathered, quiet, and tucked behind a narrow gravel path that hadn't seen a visitor in years.
The woman they had come for stood at her front porch, a frail figure wrapped in a faded shawl. Her voice trembled with fear and anger as she shouted from a distance.
"Leave me alone! I didn't do anything to anybody!"
Her eyes darted back and forth like she was watching for someone from the shadows. "They've already taken my only sister... Is that not enough? Do they want to kill me too?"
Victor's men tried to reason with her, telling her they only came to speak, but her fear only grew.