Ethan adjusted his collar, stepping out of the back exit of the hotel into the biting wind. He hadn't informed Jason or the guards; he needed to see the true face of this town without the shadow of his army following him.

"Crul, confirm again—there are no cameras watching these streets, right?" asked Ethan.

[There are no visual sensors active in this sector. I detect no cellular signals except for the two encrypted lines I previously identified. The town is a technological black hole,] said Crul.

The silence was reassuring, but it also intrigued him. A town this isolated was the perfect cage. As he walked toward the residential district, the "scenic" facade began to crumble. The houses were decaying, and the smell of unwashed bodies and fear hung heavy in the air.

He turned into a narrow alley and saw a small child, no older than six, huddled against a wooden crate. The boy's lips were blue, his small hands shaking as he tried to scrap a frozen piece of fish from the slushy ground.

"Hey, kid. That's not fit for a dog," said Ethan.

The boy jumped, his eyes wide with a terror that went far beyond meeting a stranger. He didn't speak; he simply stared at Ethan as if waiting for a blow to fall. Ethan reached into his pocket and pulled out a high-calorie protein bar, tossing it to him.

"Eat that instead," said Ethan.

The boy snatched it and tore into the wrapper with desperate hunger. Before Ethan could say another word, a gaunt woman rushed out from a nearby shack. She looked exhausted, her eyes sunken. She grabbed the boy and pulled him behind her, looking at Ethan with pure dread.

"Please... forgive him! He didn't mean to beg. I'll make sure he stays inside! Please don't tell the Mayor!" said the woman.

"I'm not interested in telling anyone anything. I just gave him some food," said Ethan.

The woman didn't look relieved; she looked even more terrified. She glanced at the protein bar as if it were a death sentence, then grabbed her son's arm and retreated into the darkness of the shack without another word, slamming the door shut.

Ethan continued his walk, his brow furrowed. Everywhere he looked, the pattern repeated. He saw a man sitting on a porch with a hollow gaze, his hands scarred by frostbite; the moment the man made eye contact with Ethan, he stood up and scurried inside like a frightened animal.

He passed a small group of people standing near a communal well. As he approached, the conversation died instantly. They lowered their heads, shivering in their furs, and dispersed into the shadows before he could even open his mouth to ask a question.

It was a town of ghosts. Everyone seemed to be a captive, living under an invisible thumb. He noticed that the paths leading out of the village toward the mountains were heavily trampled, but there were no footprints coming back—only the deep ruts of heavy tires.

"They aren't just afraid of Torin, are they, Crul?" asked Ethan.

[The psychological profile of the inhabitants suggests a state of total subjugation. They are being managed like livestock, Master. Any attempt to communicate with you is likely viewed as a fatal risk,] said Crul.

Ethan stopped in front of a small, boarded-up shop. He could feel eyes on him from every direction, but no one dared to step into the light. The silence of the town was screaming the truth: anyone who angered the leadership disappeared forever.

Ethan pushed open the creaking door of the small grocery store. Inside, the air was stagnant and smelled of old sawdust. The shelves were nearly empty, holding only a few dented cans and bags of greyish flour. A middle-aged woman with greying hair stood behind the counter, her hands trembling as she wiped a spot that was already clean.

Ethan walked up to the counter, his presence far too large for the cramped space. "Doesn't look like much of a harvest lately," said Ethan.

"The winters are long here. We make do with what we have," said the woman, her eyes darting toward the door as if checking for shadows.

"I'm curious. How do the locals earn a living in a place like this? There's no industry for miles," said Ethan.

The woman swallowed hard, her knuckles turning white as she gripped a rag. "Most people here... they just hunt. Or they fish. We trade what we catch with them," said the woman.

"With them? You mean the Mayor's people?" asked Ethan.

The woman didn't answer directly. She looked at Ethan with a flash of something that looked like pity, or perhaps warning. "You have a nice coat, sir. And a warm plane. If I were a young man with a way to leave... I wouldn't spend too much time looking at empty shelves. The air gets much thinner at night," said the woman.

"Is that a threat or a piece of advice?" asked Ethan.

"It's just the way things are. Do you want to buy something or not?" asked the woman, her voice hitching with a sudden spike of anxiety.

Ethan didn't push further. He reached for a dusty bottle of whiskey sitting on the shelf behind her. "I'll take the bottle," said Ethan.

He tossed a few bills onto the counter—far more than the cheap liquor was worth—and walked out without waiting for change. As he made his way back toward the hotel, the wind began to howl, carrying the scent of an approaching storm.

At the entrance of the building, he nearly collided with Torin. The Mayor was rushing out, his face pale and tight with stress. The moment he saw Ethan, he stopped dead, letting out a long, shaky sigh of relief that he tried to mask with a cough.

"Ah, there you are! I was... I was looking for you. The food is ready. It's best to stay inside now; the weather is turning," said Torin.

His small, wrinkled face remained twisted in a slight frown, a look of deep-seated agitation that didn't escape Ethan's sharp gaze.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, Mayor. Or were you just worried I'd leave without paying the bill?" asked Ethan.

"Not at all. I just prefer to know where my guests are. Please, come inside. We have prepared a seat for you," said Torin.

Ethan walked past him, the bottle of whiskey tucked under his arm. "[Master, his heart rate is 110 beats per minute. He is not just worried; he is terrified of something,] " said Crul.

"I know," said Ethan.

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