Chapter 6: A Young Man in Enemy Territory

He imagined their voices in his ear, steadying him, reminding him of who he was and what he stood for.

Before he could turn, thirty years of missed wind and snow covered Robert’s eyes.

The memories hit him all at once—a lifetime of loss and longing, the weight of years he could never get back.

The wind and snow were vast, the world so big, he would never see his brothers again.

He swallowed hard, blinking back tears. The world seemed colder, emptier than ever.

Robert lowered his head in silence for a moment, then forced a big smile, looked at the dancers, even pointed one out to Daniel.

He cracked a joke, the old bravado returning for a moment. Daniel just shook his head, refusing to be drawn in.

Daniel said nothing.

He kept his eyes forward, refusing to meet Robert’s gaze. The pain was too fresh, the loss too real.

Robert kept moving forward.

He straightened his shoulders, pushing through the crowd. The music swelled, but he barely heard it.

An usher tried to guide him, signaling to Robert’s entourage, saying, “This way, this way, Mayor, you’re in the wrong place.”

The usher’s voice was polite but firm, trying to maintain order in the chaos.

No one paid attention.

Robert ignored him, moving with purpose. The crowd parted before him, sensing something big was about to happen.

Daniel said nothing.

He followed silently, ready for whatever came next.

Robert wandered on.

He let his feet carry him, trusting his instincts. The world narrowed to a single point of focus: vengeance.

Quentin Summers squinted at the wandering Robert, feeling inexplicably annoyed. He felt Robert hadn’t come to negotiate.

He drummed his fingers on the table, watching Robert with growing suspicion. The man was up to something—he could feel it in his bones.

But if not, Silver Hollow is already beaten, what else could he do?

He tried to reassure himself, but the doubt lingered. Robert was too unpredictable to underestimate.

Gain and loss, even thirty-year-old Robert should understand.

He told himself that Robert would see reason, that the rules of the game hadn’t changed. But deep down, he wasn’t so sure.

Quentin gave Luke Morgan a look. Luke understood: “Mayor, please take your seat. The friendship of Silver Hollow and Summers for a hundred years needs you and Quentin to talk at length.”

Luke’s voice was smooth, practiced. He gestured to the empty seat, trying to reassert control over the proceedings.

Daniel suddenly coughed twice.

The signal was clear. Robert tensed, ready to act.

Robert stopped.

He froze in place, eyes scanning the room. The moment stretched, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

Robert stopped smiling, stood on tiptoe, looked around.

He surveyed the crowd, searching for Mike Francis. His face was grim, all traces of humor gone.

He took a deep breath, as if breathing in the cold wind of Riverbend, the dream of the old backyard.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the memories wash over him. The smell of home, the sound of laughter, the feel of old friends at his side.

The officials of Summers looked at him strangely. Some wanted to find out his secret of rejuvenation, some thought the mayor today was like a clown, as if his brain was burned.

They whispered behind their hands, trying to make sense of what they were seeing. The room was charged with curiosity and suspicion.

Only one person avoided his gaze, refusing to look up.

Robert’s eyes locked onto Mike Francis, who shrank back, avoiding his gaze. The time for talk was over.

Robert smiled again, put down his heels, stood firmly, smiling with true confidence.

He straightened, the old fire back in his eyes. The room seemed to shrink, everyone waiting to see what he would do next.

After waking, thirty years had passed. This world was so unfamiliar, as if this was the dream, where he was mayor and had everything—except two people he would never find.

He felt the weight of loss pressing down on him, but also the thrill of possibility. The future was unwritten, and he intended to leave his mark.

So in a dream, everything is a dream; only one thing is hard to let go.

He clenched his fists, jaw set. The past was gone, but vengeance was still within reach.

He couldn’t let go of avenging his friends.

The words echoed in his mind, a promise he intended to keep.

Not just thirty-year-old Robert—even sixty-year-old Mayor Hastings, gain and loss, the whole city, he didn’t care!

He would risk everything for his friends, for justice. Nothing else mattered.

Robert’s voice was soft, drifting over old memories, falling on the boots he’d worn all those years ago.

His words were barely audible, but everyone in the room felt the chill.

He said, “Mike Francis, prepare to die.”

The declaration hung in the air, shocking the room into silence.