Splinter Cell Conviction: Tom Clancys

The safe house smelled of stale coffee and regret. Sam Fisher knelt by the window, the fractured moonlight catching the silver in his stubble. Three years ago, he’d walked away from Third Echelon. They told him his daughter, Sarah, was dead. Killed by a drunk driver. He’d buried her empty casket. Buried himself in grief.

The main room was all glass and shadow, a panoramic view of D.C. below. Galliard sat in a leather wingback, reading a tablet. Two more guards flanked the doors, but they were lazy—watching the skyline, not the dark corners. Tom Clancys Splinter Cell Conviction

“You’re going to nod once if you want to keep your tongue,” Sam whispered. The safe house smelled of stale coffee and regret

Sam’s blood iced. Grim . His former colleague. The one person he’d trusted. They told him his daughter, Sarah, was dead