Caelan lingered a moment longer, lips brushing the line of her jaw before he straightened, reclaiming his glass with the same easy grace as though he hadn't just shifted the air between them. His green eyes gleamed, softened by firelight but sharpened by thought.
"So," he said, swirling the last sip of brandy, his tone almost conversational, almost lazy, except for the razor hidden under it. "How do you plan to lure them?"
Serathine's amber gaze flicked back to the dispatch, fingers tapping once against its edge before she looked up at him again. "Ophelia is simple. She's young, vain, and convinced her mother's sins don't touch her."
Serathine leaned back in her chair, one leg crossing over the other, the gleam of firelight turning her hair into molten copper. "She believes she can waltz into her brother's life and thaw whatever ice she imagines sits in his heart. All I need to do is let her believe it."
