Taft sat in silence, from the passenger seat of the grey Corolla. A thin man was driving along a long, dark road surrounded by woods. The thin man swallowed hard, casting a glance at his passenger.

"How much further should I drive?" by the one of his voice, the man was barely hanging on to reason. Taft couldn't blame him. The man's question went unanswered, and the man starter to sweat. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, further mussing his ragged hair. He looked like he hadn't slept in a long time.

After some time, Taft finally spoke. "Were there any problems with your flight?" His voice was perfectly even. Controlled.

"N-no. What are we doing out here?" He let out a sound almost like a gasp, then quickly added "Seer?"

"We are learning a lesson. About not wasting time. Or resources." Even as he emphasized this, Taft's voice remained deadpan. He was angry, yes. But this was not the fury of rage. No. This was cold, calculated malice.

The man - the Weaver - shot Taft a confused look. "Then why fly me out here?"

"Eyes on the road." the Shadow chided. Seconds passed. "The cost of a plane ticket is nothing compared to the cost of lost time. My time, in particular."

The Weaver looked as uncertain as he'd ever looked. If he were the kind, he might even have broken down into tears. But, to his credit, he kept it together. All the better. A broken man is of little use in his position. Taft glanced at the man. He watched a single drop of sweat trickle down his face before the Weaver finally wiped it away.

"There. Pull up onto that path." Taft pointed to a gravel access approaching swiftly on their right. The Weaver slowed the car as smoothly as he could, turned onto the path, and killed the headlights.

"Some say the Kiss is euphoric. A sort of transcending experience." Taft pulls a knife from the glove-box and unceremoniously plops it on the man's lap. "You, however, will not experience this. You will not enjoy this."

Again, Taft sat in silence. Waiting for the man to draw his own blood.

--------

The Shadow drove the car back alone. The man? Left to find his way back. Someone had to pay for this lapse in intelligence. Never mind that Taft blamed himself most of all. He wasn't supposed to be a spectator as the power shifted in Sacramento; he was supposed to be an instrument. His only option now was to watch and wait. Ascension to power is not the only important event to play out in history.