Darius Hale's private office sat on the top floor of a building that didn't announce itself from the street, tucked behind a row of tax record offices most people never had reason to visit. Wren had expected something grander, something that matched the reputation of a man who sat on the council of seven. Instead, he found a room with plain wooden shelves, a modest desk, and windows that looked out over rooftops instead of the more impressive view Hale could easily have claimed for himself.
"Sit," Hale said, gesturing at the chair across from his desk. He was younger than Wren had pictured, though the council always spoke of him like a man twice his actual age, his hair still mostly dark, his eyes sharp in a way that made Wren feel like every word he said was being weighed before it finis
