The smoke from my cigar curled toward the ceiling of the study, thick and suffocating.
The taste of Amaya’s lips and the ghost of her hands in my hair were a fever I couldn’t sweat out.
That girl was a problem I didn’t know how to handle.
A sharp knock vibrated through the heavy oak door.
"Enter," I said, not bothering to look up from the map spread across my desk.
Nathaniel walked in.
He looked like hell.
Whatever he had been up to at night led to the navy sweater around him being snagged, and there was a dark, dried smear of something that looked like blood on his jaw.
He’d barely had six hours of rest after a week-long haul in the North, but his posture was as straight as a bayonet.
"You summoned me, Uncle?" Nathaniel’s voice was raspier than usual.
I finally looked at him
