Irwin's gaze lingered on the talon-like nails drumming an unhurried rhythm against the polished wood of his table.
The deliberate taps filled the silence like a slow countdown, and each one was a clear reminder of the presence before him.
At last, his weary eyes lifted, tracing the length of the intruder's pale hands, up to a face that was eerily familiar— identical even, to Zephyr's. The same striking eyes, the same chiseled features. And yet, while the true Zephyr showed a bit of aging, this version remained untouched by time, preserved in an unaging, immortal form, with not a single mark on him. He looked human, but that was enough to tell the amount of power he had to gain in order to retain his human form. His aura, on the other hand, was far more menacing.
