Cleaning House

He disconnected without another word.

The faint smirk faded.

Shadows swallowed the last trace of amusement. Moonlight carved his features into something colder—his eyes dark and bottomless.

Over 4,500 miles away, Ivanov sat rigid at his massive mahogany desk, sunlight cutting sharp lines across his office.

The phone remained pressed to his ear, knuckles white. Every word Kaelen had said replay