The reading room of the Dravik mansion was a sanctuary of ancient paper, oiled leather, and dark, hand-carved oak that seemed to absorb sound. At this hour, the space between the dead of night and the first bruising blue of dawn, the room was illuminated only by the dying embers in the fireplace and the pale, ethereal light bleeding through the high windows.
Darien stood by the fireplace, his forehead leaning against the cool stone of the mantle. He had not slept. The dragon within him was too restless, his jaw tightening every time he thought of the files sitting on his desk, the files that detailed the life of a man named Hansen.
He didn't turn when he heard the heavy footsteps echoing in the hallway. He didn't need to. The air in the room grew denser, the floorboards letting out a low, respectful groan as a presence entered that was even more grounded than his own.
