Trevor turned the tablet toward him, the dossier glowing cold against the dim study.
The man's face filled the screen. Dark hair slicked neatly back, eyes the color of a frozen sea, flat in a way that made them more dangerous than fire. He was young, the same age as Dax at most.
Benedict Almare.
Lucas's fingers tightened against the edge of the desk. The name had meant nothing moments ago, but the face…
"Do you know him?" Trevor asked patiently.
Lucas's breath hitched, and for a moment he couldn't answer. His pulse thrummed against his throat, every instinct screaming familiarity where there should have been none. He didn't feel the same dread as with Christian Velloran; no, it was totally different.
The name was new. The face was not.
