Half a world away, high above the glittering sprawl of Los Angeles, Talon Hawkins sat alone in his penthouse office with the city stretched beneath him like a field of distant stars. The city sprawled endlessly beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, rivers of headlights weaving through the darkness below while illuminated skyscrapers pierced the night sky like artificial stars. Five years ago, Talon might have admired the view. Five years ago, he might have noticed the beauty of it.
Now he barely saw any of it.
He sat behind a massive mahogany desk darkened by age and polish, one hand loosely wrapped around a glass of untouched liquor while his gaze remained fixed on nothing in particular. Five years had carved hollows beneath his eyes and sharpened the already severe look of his face, but they had not softened him. If anything, grief had only made him more still.
Then, without warning, he froze.
