The grand clock tower in the heart of the capital had already tolled the final hour of the night by the time Liam Valerian crossed the threshold of the Valerian estate. The streets outside were cloaked in a heavy, spectral mist that blurred the edges of the cobblestones, but inside the manor, the golden flicker of oil lamps still fought a desperate battle against the encroaching dark. Liam moved with a measured, predatory grace, the 'Pangolin’s Aegis' armor hidden beneath his robes feeling like a secret, heavy promise against his skin.
In the main drawing-room of his private wing, two silhouettes sat huddled near a low sandalwood table. Claire and Iris, his personal attendants, had remained awake as they always did. It was their silent vigil; for years, they had waited for Liam to return
