Damian's POV
The window Eve had named was three days wide.
Maybe four.
Malachai had pulled the filing. Lost Callum as an asset. Was regrouping somewhere behind the warmth and the patience and the two hundred years of knowing how to absorb a loss without showing it.
Three days before he found the next angle.
Maybe four.
Damian wasn't going to waste them.
He called everyone together at eight in the morning.
Not just his brothers. Not just Eve.
Vessa too....through the courier system, a single line, come now if you can travel.
She arrived by noon.
Same coat. Same precise handwriting on the note she sent ahead confirming she was coming. She walked into the estate like she'd been walking into it for years and looked around the entrance hall with the specific quality of someone returning to a place they'd only ever seen in their imagination.
"You have his taste," she said to Damian. Looking at the stonework. The high ceilings.
"My father's," Damian said.
