The chic new library of Zeth Richason's private Manhattan home was nearly pitch black, except for the intense, icy blue light that emanated from a dual monitor forensic workstation. Zeth sat in a high-backed leather chair, with an empty crystal tumbler by his high-backed chair and a half-filled bottle of pricey scotch whiskey in front of him, on a large mahogany desk. That was the grand mansion; but his mind was a war zone, with all the warring and tormenting thoughts that did not leave him in peace. The air was filled with the smell of vanilla, as if it were always there, waiting to get lost in the fog.The air seemed to be filled with a scent of vanilla, as if it were always there, waiting to be lost in the fog.
“Why did you leave, Casel?" Zeth whispered to the empty room, his deep, velv
