Quiet Reign
"I need you and Damaris at the house in ten minutes, Cole. Do not make an excuse. Just get here."
For the next ten minutes, the brownstone was suffocatingly quiet. Selah stood at the head of the heavy oak dining room table, her posture perfectly rigid, her jaw set. On the polished wood before her rested the single slip of paper Helena had left behind—the handwritten address of Arthur Pendleton’s shadow office. Her left hand rested flat on the table, the raw, uncut black diamond promise ring catching the gray afternoon light filtering through the curtains, a silent testament to the future they were supposed to be building in absolute lockstep.