The door to Seraphina Ashwood's office was not locked this time.
It was barely latched.
Marcus pushed it open with a quiet creak.
The air inside was stale. It smelled of cold coffee and old dust.
Seraphina sat behind her desk. She was surrounded by paper.
Stacks of legal scrolls towered like fortifications.
Open books on inheritance law covered every inch of wood.
She didn't look up. Her quill scratched furiously against parchment.
She looked terrible.
Her platinum hair was loose and tangled.
Dark circles bruised the skin beneath her eyes.
Her lips were pale and dry.
She looked like a general who had been fighting a siege for ten years without sleep.
"I'm busy," she said. Her voice was brittle. "Leave the report on the desk."
Marcus didn't move. He closed the door behind him.
"I don't have a report," Marcus said softly.
Seraphina's hand froze. The quill stopped scratching.
She looked up. Her ice-blue eyes were dull. They narrowed when she saw him.
