The sun had barely begun to burn through the morning fog of the city when the private, encrypted line on Theron's desk let out a low, melodic chime. Theron, who had been cat-napping with his head resting on a stack of quarterly reports, jolted upright. He didn't even need to look at the caller ID, only one person had the bypass code to ring this phone while the rest of the world was blocked.
He swiped the screen, his voice thick with sleep and irritation. "This better be an emergency, Darien. Or at least a notification that you've decided to buy me a private island for my troubles."
"Your island will have to wait," Darien's voice came through the speaker, sounding terrifyingly clear, resonant, and entirely too healthy for a man who had been a ghost forty-eight hours prior. "I'm calling to inform you that Amara and I won't be in the office for the next few days. Possibly the week."
"Right, of course," Theron snapped, his sarcasm dripping like acid.
