Catherine had seen the news early that morning. Edward Blackwood was dead. At first, she had only skimmed the headline, but one search led to another, and soon she found the announcement about a press conference. Curiosity pulled her to the living room television.
She stood in front of the screen now, arms loosely folded, watching the broadcast. The reporters had gathered in a dense crowd, cameras flashing under the harsh studio lights. Microphones covered the table at the front like a wall of metal stems.
Behind her, Maximilian had walked into the room.
"What do you mean?" she asked, glancing back at him. His earlier tone had carried something strange—something that suggested he knew more than what the news was saying.
Before he could answer, her phone rang.
Catherine glanced down at the screen. Dorian.
