Admiral Volkas sat in his draconic leather chair in his offices.
His Aide stood nearby, a languid smile on his face.
A small, rough box sat on his desk, its reflection clear as crystal in the overly polished face of the dark hardwood from some dead world.
"Well?" He asked, his voice groaning up from a billowy chest, one decorated in medals.
"It's an apology, sir."
"From Rike Kala Ai'Dim? I don't believe it."
"I didn't, either, but it checks out."
"And after two years of open warfare? And five of silence?"
Arimistead Volkas was Admiral of one of the Free Humanic Fleets.
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He’d done all. Everything. There was nothing left to do but watch and wait. He had set things to start rolling and now the boring part begins. He was sure that he’d thought every detail. It would come together mostly as he’d expected and that was all he could hope for when making a solar system .

So with high expectations he rested in the warmth of a newly formed sun as the third planet was a giant sea of ammonia.

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Vague explanation:
We're looking at the year 2248 or thereabouts.
This is the aftermath of a coup made by some uppity jerk in an upper 1% family.
The assassin is a constant staple in all of my work, but this storyline is definitely him at his worst.
He's an opportunist, and definitely the deadliest thing on Earth, and not easily identifiable as a 'nice person.'
He's also superhuman and about in his sixties when this goes down.
To avoid confusion, his name is in the last paragraph. It's the only time it's mentioned.
The motto for this could be 'truth is a commodity not for the untruthful.'

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He hung up his phone and looked around, incredulity and mirth battling across his face to make his eyes water.
It was done.
He was free and nobody was left to hold him down.
Add to that the money in the bank and the villa even after the Hearthrow estate was done being bled dry by assessors and collectors. When Meir returned, he would have to acknowledge him as Baron.
Everything, in the end, had been surprisingly easy, had almost sped along of its own accord, destiny sluicing its way forward, when he had 'pulled the trigger,' as it were.

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The bell tower was brightly lit by the cool moonlight coming in through the tall window. Stars twinkled innocently in the clear night sky. A lone bat flapped its leathery wings as it passed between the two figures standing still as statues beside the water-stained old bell.

Tiran stared at the girl as she gaped at him, or rather the space beside him where only his long shadow shaded the wall. He looked at his shadow, it looked normal enough to him, perhaps only a bit distorted by the angle of light from the moon, but otherwise as it should be, so he thought. He looked back at her frightened face.
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As usual, Filka was late. He had a hangover and was sitting by the Des Plaines River north of Chicago, just staring at the calmly running water and the grass and trees around him. A bird was chirping somewhere. So was his phone. He was supposed to be meeting a fan at a cafe back in the city and she had just texted him.

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This story started with a question. When a person has a psychic event, are they perceiving the future or creating it? The answer we agreed on is, “What’s the difference?” I believe the ultimate prank is to bend the future to your will despite anything and everybody.

The room was cold. Not freezing cold, not January morning cold, just uncomfortably chilly. It was the kind of room that exudes no warmth, like an airplane bathroom or teacher’s lounge. Gray unadorned walls slumped on three sides to the left, right and behind. Fluorescent lights in a yellowed ceiling glowed starkly, casting their light on a single gray metal door, the only entrance into the room. Jules faced this door. He sat in a metal chair bolted to the gray cement floor behind a table bolted down as well. He waited for the man to come in. There would be questions Jules could not answer, at least not without sounding like a smart-ass. He really didn’t want to come across as a smart-ass, though people said he did even when he wasn’t. He didn’t think this was the time to get all snarky, these guys in dark suits were not known for their sense of humor.

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