The embers in the hearth of the Vesper Estate had faded to a dull, pulsing crimson, leaving the study in a state of suspended animation. Outside, the mist clung to the glass like a shroud, turning the city into a graveyard of jagged, half-seen silhouettes.
Cattleya stood by the high hearth, the orange glow catching the sharp, resolved angles of her face. She was fully dressed, the crisp lines of her clothes a stark contrast to the vulnerability of the hours they had just shared. She was no longer hiding in the warmth of the sofa; she was preparing to step back into the shadow of the Church.
Rusty sat at his mahogany desk, the light of a single lamp carving deep, hollow shadows into his features. He was not looking at her. He was staring at an antique silver pocket watch”a relic from a ti
