Grayson pulled the heavy folder from his coat and laid it flat on the dark wood.
The three silver wax seals of the High Council glowed faintly under the dim desk lamp. To any ordinary spirit or lower demon, breaking those seals would result in a painful curse. But Grayson was an ancient lord of royal blood. The seals posed no threat to him.
Grayson pressed his thumb against the first silver seal. With a sharp crack, the silver wax snapped in half, turning into fine gray dust. He broke the second seal, then the third.
The red silk string loosened, falling away from the dark leather cover.
Grayson paused for a brief moment. His heart, usually steady and calm, beat with a quiet, tense rhythm. He thought about Chloe—her loud complaints, her ridiculous cat slippers, her constant snapping of gum, and the small, sad look she had shown when Mailah had brushed her hair the day before.
