The rain pattered steadily against the tall windows of Silas’s office, the muted gray light pooling across the mahogany desk. Shelves lined the walls, heavy with leather-bound volumes that smelled faintly of age and ink. Silas sat behind the desk, a map of the outer territories spread before him, though his eyes were distant.
Victoria leaned against the arm of one of the velvet chairs, arms crossed. Her voice was low, but edged with something sharp. “I’m telling you, she’s circling you.”
Silas’s gaze flicked up from the map. “Blair.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes, Blair,” Victoria said, irritation sharpening her words. “She’s trying to make herself look like she belongs in your orbit. The way she lingered after the meeting, the way she kept looking at you like you were her next conquest. I
