Osiris Lawless stood in the office with his hands clasped neatly behind his back, the picture of control.
His cloak brushed faintly against the floor, its folds unmoving despite the draft slipping through the shutters. His posture was rigid, his head tilted slightly downward, but his eyes were calm pools of ice.
Outside, voices rose and fell, with soldiers announcing arrivals, and servants hurrying with messages.
Osiris heard them as clearly as he heard his own breath, but he gave them no attention. He had learned long ago that noise was just that. Noise. It would fade.
A minute later, the door swung open.
Lord Rowe entered, his steps heavy with authority, his armor creaking faintly as he moved. His jaw was clenched, his eyes filled with contained rage. Everyone could see it, clear as day.
The grief that had hollowed his features had hardened into something else now. Every move he made was filled with purpose, fury, and command.
