Raven’s POV
The diner kept humming.
That was the thing that struck me, in the seconds after Emory’s words settled over the table like ash after a fire. The coffee machine kept running. A truck moved past the window in a wash of sound and diesel. The woman behind the counter refilled a mug at the far end of the room for a man in a work jacket who had no idea that eight people in the back booth had just been informed that a three-hundred-year-old supernatural entity had heard a knock on her door and knocked back.
The ordinary world, utterly indifferent to the extraordinary one sitting in the middle of it.
Tyler set his pen down with a precision that suggested he was using the act of setting it down to organize his response before it reached his mouth. “Three hundred years,” he said.
“Ap
