Kristen
There was something different about Ezra Falcon. He looked as dazzling and impeccable as always, his tall, broad shouldered physique clothed in a professionally tailored grey suit, his hair pulled back with a piece of leather that was a strangely primitive contrast to his scholarly wire-rimmed glasses. His jaw was smoothly shaved, and he wore a watch on his wrist that probably cost more than the house I was about to be evicted from.
He looked the same, but there was something different in his eyes. When he met my gaze over the head of that fat, greasy haired man, I felt like they burned straight into my soul. Something in their dark depths seemed to set my blood on fire. And when he spoke, his usually deep voice had an authoritarian edge, like a king weilding a sword. No one in t
