Adam leaned over his desk, his broad back hiding the parchment from Diane's sight. His fingers wrapped around the ash-gray quill, and it twitched as soon as the rough surface met his palm. Slowly at first, then harder. It turned smooth as the feathers regained their flamboyant red. It tugged at his hand, guiding it across the parchment until red ink swirled into words—a sentence Adam read with growing interest.
[I don't have much time, so let's skip questions about hows and whys. There is something I must tell you first, heir of Revery.]
[What is it?]
He wrote back before the quill worked its magic again.
