The glass walls of the Vienna penthouse were filled with rain-slicked spires of St. Stephen's Cathedral, but inside the room was a holy place of silence and electronic spying. It was a few hours after the multi-billion dollar winter budget session had begun and the furthest thing from the mind was the static hum of encrypted servers. Casel was placed by the piece of marble column with the minimum light of the room to his charcoal silk suit. Lying nearby, Liam was in his custom travel bassinet, breathing softly and regularly, to the comfort of her cold mechanical life of exile. He was doing well, safely behind the guard rails which were very expensive to keep in place.
At the main console, Christian Richason's narrow jawline was lit up by the blue hue of the data streams showing the privat
