Chapter 42: Revoked
The doors to Christian’s office opened without a knock.
Serathine stepped through like a storm disguised as diplomacy—coat draped perfectly over her shoulders, gloves still on, expression composed but far too still to be called calm.
Christian didn’t look up right away.
He was standing near the wide pane of glass at the back of the room, one hand resting on the windowsill, the other cradling a half-empty glass of something amber and ancient.
He didn’t turn.
"You’re early," he said.
"You’re deflecting," Serathine replied.
She didn’t wait for permission. She crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps and stopped a few feet from him, her voice still low, still level—but tight enough to cut steel.
"What did you do?"
He turned then. No arrogance. No guilt.
Just Christian Velloran, face unreadable, gaze like glass with pressure behind it.
"To whom?"