The valet hadn't even straightened from announcing Benjamin when another chime rolled through the foyer, lower and more deliberate this time. A second door opened. This time the staff didn't speak first; they simply stepped back as if making way for a weather front.
Trevor entered first, all languid elegance and violet eyes that swept the room like a blade. His shirt was still open at the throat, but nothing about him felt informal. Behind him came Milo, his pace unhurried by the quiet weight of old authority at his back. And at Milo's shoulder, Andrew.
Andrew walked as if he'd been crossing palace thresholds all his life. No hesitation, no quick glances for cues; the prosecutor's posture had been traded for a nobleman's stride, his dark hair immaculate, his glasses catching the light. To anyone who didn't know better, the three of them looked less like unconventional allies and more like a unit returning to its own court.
Mia's stylus froze above her screen.
