He wasn't watching the door for long. The object of his attention was already there, had been for some minutes, sitting in a dark corner, nursing a drink, and doing a remarkably convincing impression of a piece of the furniture. But Caelan had noticed him. And now, so did she.
The man was tall and broad, built like a blacksmith, with a face that was a roadmap of old fights and bad decisions. His hair was a shock of silver, a stark, unnatural color that marked him as either fae-touched or dyed. But it was his eyes that held her attention. They were a flat, cold, lifeless gray, the color of a winter sky before a storm. He was watching them, a steady, unnerving gaze that was neither hostile nor friendly, but simply... observant.
"Friend of yours?" Emily asked, her voice a low, tense murmur, her appetite suddenly gone.
