The warm glow from the flickering fireplace cast long shadows along the dark mahogany walls of the study. The air was thick with the faint scent of aged parchment and smoke, but tonight, the room felt colder—heavier—as if the walls themselves were listening.
Elion stood behind his desk, one hand gripping the edge while the other rubbed at his temple. His silver eyes were half-hidden beneath his furrowed brows, fixed on the swirling amber liquid in the glass before him. His mind felt like it was being pulled in a hundred directions, but no matter how much he tried to push the thoughts away, they kept circling back to one thing.
Raelynn.
"I told you before, Reinhart... that shitty organization was on the move again." His voice broke the silence, low and steady, yet there was an edge beneath the calm surface—a tension barely restrained.
