It was the hour of midnight and the lamp burnt low but steady on the desk, its warm glow pooling over an open book.
Ruelle's head rested against the page she had been reading, her breathing slow, lashes still. Somewhere in the quiet, the tick of the clock counted each second into the dark. The faint scrape of a key in the lock broke the silence and her brows drew together as she stirred, lifting her head.
The door opened, and Lucian stepped inside, closing it with the same quietness with which he entered. His shirt clung to him like a second skin, dark hair damp and dripping, as though the night had followed him in. The lamplight seemed to dull when he moved past it, shadows stretching.
She glanced at the clock. Past two.
Lucian crossed the room without a word, his steps unhurried until he disappeared behind the folding divider.
