Wren's Pov
Damian told me about Cassius, about the initials, about a name that fit together too cleanly to be coincidence, in the kitchen of the penthouse at two in the morning, both of us too wired for sleep and too exhausted to pretend otherwise.
"Julian Voss's father," I repeated, turning the shape of it over. "Funding both sides of this war for decades. And now Julian's seated at table twelve, at my own engagement gala, next to a placeholder guest listed only by the same two initials."
"I don't know if E.V. means the father is still alive, or if Julian's using his father's old initials as a signature, a way of announcing something without saying it outright." Damian rubbed a hand over his face, and for the first time since I'd known him, he looked less like a man in control of a cri
