NIGHTSPIRE — MAELOR'S STUDY
Maelor Vantheos was mid-sentence when the door opened without a knock.
The mid-sentence had been addressed to a journal he was annotating with observations about Gavriel Sterling's magical signature, a journal that had grown from three pages to seventeen in under twenty-four hours and was threatening to become a manuscript. The annotations were meticulous, cross-referenced, and written in a script so small it required magnification.
The door swung inward and Tiberon Drakenfell walked through it as if the door had been expecting him and had opened itself out of respect.
It had not. Hyran had opened it without knocking. Something he never did with Maelor and something that Maelor had never once stopped being offended by.
Maelor's pen paused. His mismatched eyes moved from the journal to Tiberon to Hyran and back to Tiberon.
"Alpha Drakenfell. To what do I owe—"
"I need to speak with Nightspire. Now." Tiberon's tone left no room for negotiation.
