The morning arrived the way mornings do when something significant is about to happen — ordinary on the surface, carrying weight underneath.
Roman was awake before five.
He hadn't set an alarm. He rarely needed one. His body had always operated on its own internal schedule, pulling him out of sleep when sleep had given everything it was going to give and there was nothing left but lying in the dark pretending otherwise.
He got up.
Dressed quietly in the stillness of the estate, the house holding its breath around him. He moved through the familiar rooms without turning on unnecessary lights, stopping in the kitchen long enough to make coffee, standing at the counter while it brewed and looking out at the grounds through the window.
The sky was still dark at the edges.
He drank the coffee standing up.
Then he went to the study.
