Raven walked the corridor barefoot, the polished stone cold enough to bite through her soles and climb her calves with every step.
No summons pulled her forward, and no fresh blood stained her hands. She moved without the rush of adrenaline or the phantom chill that so often shadowed her movements, guided only by her own silent, steady decision as she approached the low glow of light spilling from beneath his door.
She stopped outside his room, her hand resting against the heavy brass handle.
She turned the handle anyway.
Vincent sat at the desk, a low light illuminating the papers spread in front of him. His fingers smoothed the edge of a report with a slow, controlled pressure, though his expression remained unreadable. His black shirt hung open at the collar, his hair loose over his shoulders. When she entered, he looked up, his dark eyes finding hers across the space. He didn't speak or stand, simply waiting in the way he always did when the next move belonged to her.
