The study was quiet. Not the tense quiet before a storm. The other kind. The one that settled into the walls and refused to leave.
Raven stood by the window, bare feet on the cold marble, the report still warm from the printer in her hand. Three pages. Single-spaced. Every word the mercenary commander had spilled under the too-bright light and the unbalanced chair.
Vincent sat behind the desk. He hadn't looked up yet.
Somewhere in the mansion, Gabriel was still unconscious. The depot was still gone. And she was still standing here, in this room, choosing to stay.
The cage had never had locks. She just hadn't noticed until now.
She crossed the room. Set the report on the desk. The paper made a soft sound against the wood.
Vincent picked it up. Read it. Page one. Page two. Page three.
His face gave nothing away. It never did. The lamp on his desk cast a low gold circle across his hands, his wrists, the edge of his jaw.
He set the report down.
"You've changed."
