It’s been hours since we left the courtroom. I slump into one of the comfy club chairs in Lincoln’s private chambers. The grandfather clock reads past midnight and—surprise, surprise—there’s still no sign of Connor or Octavia. My tail has been alleviating frustration by balling up bits of parchment and chucking them at the door.
Lincoln sits at a nearby table, reading through the messages that have come in for him since we left. Whenever he’s done with a parchment, he tosses the sheet to my tail.
This has been going on for hours now. It’s making me crazy. Where the hell is Connor?
One thing I’ll say, though. Lincoln’s rooms make for a cool spot to hang out. His chambers mix up the medieval vibe with some swanky modern art and plush leather chairs. Not to mention the fact that the servan
