The letter arrived with the morning correspondence, tucked between two household notices and a folded invoice from the tailor. She almost missed it. Then she saw the seal.
Deep green wax, pressed with the Draven crest, the specific impression of Atlas's personal seal, not Donovan's, She had pressed that seal into wax herself once, at his request, helping him organize his desk, and she recognized the slight asymmetry of the left wing where the die had worn unevenly.
She took the letter to her room before she opened it.
