The room was quiet.
He wasn't wrong.
Damian had been sitting with the same thing since he'd read it in his father's study. The letter was right. The emotion of it, the specifics, the weight of thirty two years of watching....all of it felt real. All of it read like truth.
But feeling real wasn't the same as being real.
And Malachai had two centuries of making things feel exactly as real as he needed them to.
"We respond carefully," Damian said. "We confirm nothing. We give nothing. We open the door and we see what walks through it in person." He looked at Damon. "If it's real we need to know who V is. If it's Malachai we need to know that too."
Damon looked at the table.
"And if it's a trap," he said.
"Then we walk into it with our eyes open," Damian said. "Which is different from walking into it blind."
Damon was quiet for a long moment.
Then he looked up.
"Fine," he said. "But I want to be in the room when she responds. Whoever V is....I want to be there."
