The door on the other of the room opened.
Stephen Crofts, the man who took down an empire, entered, as twenty armed Major-General guards followed him. The door slammed shut, cutting off the wind coming from the sea.
Crofts, in his usual white cotton shirt and black denim jacket starred at the Imperator, his sand blond hair given a glow buy the sea salt in the air. It wasn't a stare of hate or disgust, it was one of will.
The two men were searching each other's souls.
Crofts kept his eyes locked on the Imperator as he sat.
The two men's parties were also caught in the moment. The Praetorians and Major-Generals eyed each other. They both knew that they were on the same side here, or were about to be anyway. That didn't seem to matter as the two paramilitary units looked each other up and down. In an instant any of the forty-four men would have been ready to pull the trigger.
This was the true meaning of tension. Nothing that could be cut with a knife. This was something a chainsaw would have to go to work on.
"Finally, a man worth respecting" Crofts thought to himself.
Finally Crofts broke his stare, grabbing a pen, signing his name. He looked back up at the Imperator, leaned back in his chair and smiled.
"To peace, to friendship, to order and justice" he said.
