Outside the heavy stone walls of the River House, rain slashed endlessly against the glass. It blurred the river into a churning mass of dark liquid, the wind whistling low through the cedar trees lining the property.
Inside the study, the curtains remained tightly drawn. The gloom was absolute, broken only by the cold, ambient blink of an idling laptop screen. The room smelled heavily of dark cedar, stale humidity, and ozone.
Cael Alexander sat behind the massive walnut desk. The tumbler of crystal whiskey in front of him remained untouched today. It wasn't because his condition had improved, but because he had simply stopped caring enough to pour it. His tall frame slumped back in the leather chair, his broad shoulders unusually hollowed. Dark, exhaustion-carved shadows clung to his sharp cheekbones. His eyes stared straight ahead, entirely unblinking, glassy and dead.
The heavy oak door swung open with a soft click.
