Elizabeth's office was silent when Damon entered. The sound of the door closing behind him seemed to blot out the world outside. The air inside was thick, smelling of ink, parchment, and iron—a curious combination that perfectly reflected the woman sitting at the desk.
Elizabeth was focused, her fingers gliding over a pile of documents and reports piled haphazardly. The early morning light filtered through the half-open curtains, painting the strands of her dark hair golden. She didn't look up immediately, only raising her hand in a quick gesture, indicating for him to wait.
But it was the man beside her who caught Damon's attention.
Leaning against the wall, half-hidden by the shadows, he seemed a part of the room itself—still, silent, and yet filling every inch of the space with a presence that made the air vibrate.
Damon's gaze narrowed.
