The mid-morning sun cut through the tall pine trees around the community center, but inside Callan’s back office, the room felt cold. Papers covered the long wooden table. Old property maps, tax receipts, and yellowed bank statements were spread out in uneven piles.Elowen sat in a wooden chair, her fingers tightly holding a ceramic mug of tea that had long gone cold. Her green eyes scanned every line of the copy of the promissory note Callan had brought from city hall. On the surface, the document looked official. It bore her father’s full name, a signature that mimicked his dark ink loops, and a date from fifteen years ago.Cassian stood near the window, his shoulders broad and stiff against the light. His eyes moved back and forth across the yard outside, watching for any unfamiliar cars pulling up the gravel driveway."Look at the bottom line, Callan," Cassian said, turning away from the glass. His voice was quiet, but it held a sharp edge. "The notary seal. Is that name readable?
آخر تحديث : 2026-09-07
